


England Would Fall

by orphan_account



Series: The Everlasting Diverson [1]
Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Banter, Bondlock, Crossover, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Hacking, Innuendo, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Pre Series 3-Sherlock, Pre season 7 - supernatural, Q is a Holmes, Revenge, Torture, blonde killers and brunette geniuses, don't hold us to that, guard cat, it's not John, possessive!cat, psych evaluation, someone punches Sherlock, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, then the shit hits the fan, until chapter 16, you could make clouds out of this fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 36,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if you added every fandom to a fanfiction?</p><p>  <em>England Would Fall </em></p><p> </p><p><b>Season 1</b>: Chapters 1-15 - <em>John deals with Sherlock's "death" and finds out it wasn't real. Bond and Q finally deal with the mountains of sexual tension in Q-Branch, and Merlin makes himself comfortable as Q's second in command.</em><br/><b>Season 2</b>: Chapters 16-24 - <em>Irene Adler, Sebastian Moran, and Vesper Lynd make an appearance. One blonde soldier and one brunette genius get kidnapped, and their counterparts go above and beyond to save them. </em><br/><b>Season 3</b>: Chapters 25-35 - <em>Q's minions are turning up dead, the Winchesters arrive, and one obnoxious Captain decides to make himself known, all as Sherlock races to stop the murders before his own brother is affected.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Flirting With Trained Killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q Holmes + the British government + clueless James =Chapter One
> 
>  
> 
> This is Bondlock. This will end up being so much more.

There were fourteen programs running, on three different screens, on Q’s one desk. Four were constantly monitoring security, searching for holes in the firewalls protecting the MI6 mainframe. Three of them were tracking double-oh agents, one in Germany, one in Russia, and one in Japan. Six were beta programs, ideas Q was toying with on how to improve security by lessening the number of gateways onto the system. Then there was the last one; created with the sole purpose of tracking down the equipment that James Bond had failed, yet again, to return. 

One of the programs made itself known by causing its window to flash orange. A bit distantly, Q hoped it was the tracking device he’d designed to locate 007’s equipment, but when he clicked on the window, he was unsurprisingly disappointed. His marvelous machine hadn’t found the missing gun, but it had found something that wasn’t supposed to be in the system. Intrigued and almost excited, he pulled up another window and latched onto the spyware floating around in some of his more personal documents. He got a trace in a matter of seconds.

“Amateurs,” he muttered under his breath. He hacked the signal the spyware was receiving and from that got an IP address and a map location. He frowned when the little red dot flashed with the physical address. “Prat. What do you want?”

_He launched a basic instant messenger he’d designed himself and logged in, quickly typing out an irritated message._

_If you really wanted to read something, you could have asked. It’s not like anyone around here is going to tell the British government ‘no’. –Q_

_Come now, brother. You are beginning to sound like Sherlock. I occupy a minor position in the British government, and I am not fond of abusing power. –MH_

_Of course. Forgive me. The Trafalgar incident wasn’t abusing your power at all. –Q_

_Now, what do you want? –Q_

_I’m worried about you. –MH_

_Is that sentiment I hear? Is old age making you soft, brother? –Q_

_You and Sherlock /constantly/ give me reason to worry about you. That’s hardly sentimental. –MH_

_And what exactly are you worried about? I can take care of myself. –Q_

_You /are/ beginning to sound like Sherlock. –MH_

Q made a frustrated noise in his throat and typed a poorly worded response, something along the lines of ‘better to sound like Sherlock than sound like Mummy.” After hitting the enter key with much more force than necessary, he looked up, opening his mouth to tell one of the minions to fix the hole Mycroft had come in through. 

Instead of a pale, bespectacled face, however, he saw a pair of startling blue eyes and a tanned, well-worn countenance just a little too close to him. His breath caught in his throat and adrenaline flooded his system for a brief moment before he blinked and realized who it was.

“Bond,” he said, his voice sounding incredibly calm, even to him. “There is no need to sneak around Q-branch. We’re all quire harmless here, I assure you.”

“I’m sure they are,” Bond answered, picking up a stray pencil from Q’s desk. He twirled it around his fingers before pointing it at Q. “I’m not entirely sure about you, however. I have the feeling you could be quite… dangerous.” He smirked, and Q had to stop himself from rising to the bait. He was already on edge from his little conversation with Mycroft, and the last thing he needed was to go off on the agent.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, adopting a tone of patience and longsuffering. 

“Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Quartermaster?” Bond met and held Q’s eyes for a split second before he put the pencil back down on the desk, his fingertips brushing the side of Q’s hand. Q twitched, and Bonds smirked again.

This time, Q returned the smirk. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Bond. I’m not making you an exploding pen.”

“I don’t see what you have against a bit of style,” Bond countered, leaning against Q’s desk. He crossed his arms on his chest, and Q had just enough time to register the thought of how unfair it was that the motion stretched his shirt across his muscular shoulders before Bond was speaking again. “Any news on Madagascar? I was supposed to leave this morning, and Mallory refuses to tell me why I’m not currently in a mosquito-infested jungle with your lovely tenor in my ear.”

“You’re not in Madagascar because 005 went in your place.” Q watched Bond carefully, not wanting to miss his reaction.

The muscles under Bond’s shirt immediately tightened, and Q wished that perhaps he hadn’t stared quite so hard. “And why is that?” Oh, that tone. That was Bond’s ‘licensed to kill’ tone; the calm, cool, collected one that never failed to send shivers up Q’s spine.

Q picked up the pencil and scribbled himself a note to fix the hole in the firewall himself. “Because my ‘lovely tenor’ likes to be obeyed,” he muttered absently, his eyes flickering over the chat window that was still open. He looked back to Bond. “Perhaps if you spent less time fantasizing and more time listening to my words, you would be the one out in the field.”

Q was faintly aware that the minions were staring, but he was slightly too busy looking at Bond with smug victory, taking in the agent’s wide eyes. It took a lot to surprise a double-oh, and Q was fully aware that he probably wouldn’t ever do it again. But his victory didn’t last. In a moment Bond’s shock turned smug.

“That’s rather presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Wanting to be obeyed?”

“Believing I fantasize about you.”

Q tried desperately to fight off the blush that was creeping up his neck. “I never said you fantasized about me, 007. You filled that one in all by yourself.”

“Wishful thinking,” Bond assured him, leaning away from Q’s desk. He uncrossed his arms. “I’m sure you have better things to do than chat with a double-oh, Quartermaster. I’ll leave you to it.” With a nod and a flash of those icy blue eyes, Bond turned, walking out of Q-branch.

Q watched him go, unable but to appreciate the way the agent’s training allowed him to move so fluidly. Hesitating for just a beat, he looked back at his computer, where a new message was waiting for him.

_No flirting with the trained killers, brother dear. -MH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperHeroWhoBondLock in Camelot.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Lightning" by the Wanted. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iQ5meWM0S8


	2. I Believe In Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Badass Q + Protective Bond + I believe in Sherlock Holmes = Chapter Two
> 
> This is Bondlock. This will be so much more.

Q liked being alone in the mornings. He liked having time to settle in at his desk and have his second cup of Earl Grey before any of the agents or minions were around to bother him with their problems, so that was why he came into the office at ‘some ungodly hour,’ as Tanner put it.

That was how Eve found him an hour later, fingers curled around his Scrabble mug, eyes darting across lines of code. She walked into the room, newspaper in hand, a worried look on her face. “Q?”

Q’s eyes darted up, giving the woman he considered to be his best friend a searching look. “Yes?”

Eve realized that she hadn’t really thought this through. Not at all, actually. She walked forward to his desk and held the paper against her chest, blocking the headline from the hacker’s sight. It was only then that she noticed that the minions had started trickling in. Damn. She hadn’t wanted to do this in front of them. “Could we talk outside?”

“It’s fine.” Giving the group of techies a quick look, he raised his eyebrows at Eve. “I promise the minions won’t mind.”

“Yes, but you might,” Even said quietly giving him a pained smile.

“Out with it.”

Q couldn’t help the impatience that tinted his voice or the condescending look he gave her over the rims of his glasses. He loved Eve; he loved her dearly, but she could be such a girl sometimes.

Eve handed him the paper with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Q. I’m so very sorry.”

Q’s green eyes flickered over the headline. SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS, it read, and then down over the body of the story, taking in the important details. After a moment, he opened a drawer in his desk and put the paper inside, closing it firmly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I will deal with that later.”

Eve reached out, putting a comforting hand on Q’s arm. “You can take the day off, you know. M would understand.”

Q cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m fine, Moneypenny, and I have a job to do.” He shrugged off her hand and looked away. Eve meant well, but he needed to think.

Because Sherlock couldn’t be dead.

Sherlock was too bloody arrogant to have killed himself. Especially in a way that was so… mundane. So boring. There was no mystery to it. If Sherlock Holmes wanted to kill himself he would stage it like a murder and make the police chase their tails for months on end. And that was what made Q suspect that there was something more, something that Sherlock didn’t want the public to see.

It took him only a few minutes to hack Mycroft’s personal computer and pull up the file he had on Sherlock. He dutifully ignored the folder entitled “Quentin” sitting on his brother’s desktop, instead settling for making the words “A hack for a hack, brother dear” type themselves all over whatever document Mycroft opened.

He downloaded every surveillance picture Mycroft had of Sherlock. Moving himself to one of the minions’ desks, he lowered himself into a chair and uploaded the pictures into a facial reconstruction program.

He took the rest of the day to code a new program that would most likely only be 76% efficient because he didn’t have the time or inclination to tweak every single line. Cups of tea arrived and disappeared throughout the day, but Q barely noticed. His focus was entirely on the program that would link every accessible video camera in the world to the facial recognition software he had on his laptop. That would make it possible for him to find Sherlock no matter where the prat was hiding.

Q didn’t notice when the minion whose desk he had commandeered showed up for work and had to share a desk with someone else. He didn’t notice when 007 came in to see him and spent half an hour trying to get his attention, doing everything from waving food under his nose to threatening to forcibly remove him from the premises. He didn’t notice when the minions left one day and returned the next, and he certainly didn’t notice when James and Eve stood behind him on the third day, whispering to each other.

“What kind of machine is he?” James asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the back of Q’s head. “Shouldn’t he eat or something?”

“He doesn’t, not when he’s like this.” Eve sighed and shook her head. “All we can do is wait for him to finish or pass out. At this points, the minions are taking bets as to which will happen first.”

“And which do you have your money on?” James asked, somewhat unsure he even wanted to hear the answer.

“Twenty pounds on finishing,” she said simply. “You want in?”

He gave her a sideways look before his eyes refocused on Q. “Maybe next time,” he said in a quiet voice. 

Eve sighed. “You can stop worrying, you know. He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

Bond made a noise in his throat. “Right. He had better finish soon, Miss Moneypenny, else I’m going to have to ruin your bet and carry him out of MI6.” 

Eve grinned.

***

Bond didn’t leave Q-branch. Eve did, making some comment about Q not appreciating possessiveness, but the agent found that he didn’t particularly care. He was worried about his Quartermaster, and the only reason the other double-ohs weren’t watching over him as well was because they were on missions or confined to medical. 

Except for Alec, of course. He came in about halfway through the third day and nodded at Q before looking at Bond. “What exactly is he doing? M knows, but he’s not saying, and I have the feeling that Eve knows, too. Why does no one ever tell us anything?”

“Perhaps because it’s above your security clearance, 006,” Q said dryly, standing up quickly. He practically ran over to his desk, his eyes scanning a map. When he located the flashing red dot, his whole body relaxed, and he let his head fall forward. “You bloody idiot,” he muttered. With a shaky hand, he closed out of the browser and straightened, noticing that 007 and 006 were just staring at him.

Bond wanted to make some sarcastic comment about him rejoining the living but restrained himself as Q started to talk again.

“I could tell you,” Q said, straightening his cardigan. “But then I’d have to kill you, and I don’t think M would appreciate losing two of his agents, volatile as you two can be.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted by the idea that you think you could kill us, or complimented by the word volatile,” 006 said with a bit of a smirk. 

Q started shaking his head with a sigh. “I have work to do, and there currently aren’t any triggers that need to be pulled. Goodbye, agents.”

“I think your Quartermaster is back to normal,” Alec said with a sigh and a roll of his eyes as the two agents walked out. James smirked as he watched the minions exchange money. 

“You’ll have to remind me never to piss him off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 50+ chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHocXJJvNSo


	3. That Isn't A Cabbie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking + Feels + So two blonde killers walk into a bar = Chapter Three
> 
> This is Bondlock. This will be so much more.

James was lying on the end of his bed when his phone buzzed with a text. He reached over blindly for it before he realized that it was his personal line. He opened the message, his eyes slowly softening in recognition.

_Haven’t seen you in forever, mate. If you’re in the country, would you fancy a drink? -JW_

God, he hadn’t seen John Watson since his Royal Navy days. He tried to remember what had happened, and he faintly remembered Watson getting injured in action, but that had been years after he’d been recruited to the double-oh program, and M had never exactly encouraged outside friendships.

_India can wait. Michael’s Pub at seven?_

_See you then. -JW_

*****

John’s limp was back, and as much as he hated it, as much as he knew it was psychosomatic, he couldn’t get rid of it. Everything that he thought had been fixed about him had returned when Sherlock fell: the limp, the nightmares… even his aversion to touch.

He limped into the bar, looking around for his friend. He wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted him to text James, he hadn’t even been sure he would answer, but a small part of him was glad that he was going to see someone who didn’t know anything. Who wouldn’t greet him with a sad smile and a hand on his arm and an, “I’m so sorry, John” or an “it’s all going to be okay.” 

He located the blonde, sitting in a corner with two glasses, both scotch. John slowly made his way through the crowd and slid a bit painfully into the booth across from James.

“Bloody hell,” John said, taking one of the glasses, “you bring back some memories.”

James smirked, but it didn’t reach his piercing blue eyes. “You look like hell, Doc,” he said, tactful as ever. 

John dropped his eyes and nodded, the fingers of his left hand curling and uncurling around his glass. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes going a bit unfocused. He took a deep breath. “You were right, you know. You said as soon as I got out I’d meet someone and fall completely head over heels in love. I did.”

James looked at him carefully. John was obviously in pain, and he couldn’t figure out why. “You always were the ladies’ man,” he said after a moment. “Three Continents Watson, right?”

John winced. “It was, ah… it was a bloke.”

James laughed slightly. “Of course it was, never could find a woman that caught your fancy. Not for lack of trying of course.” John still didn’t laugh, even at James’s entertainingly pitiful attempts at humor. “What’s he like?”

“He is,” John started, and then bit his lip. “Was, a complete arse.”

“Was?” James asked. John closed his eyes and wondered why he had gone to James. Mycroft was more sensitive than him, and John was pretty sure that the Holmes family had invented insensitivity. 

“Yeah, he uh…” John fell silent trying to search for the right words. He gave up after a minute and James’ eye flickered briefly before he nodded. “Yeah, about four days ago,” John managed, hoping that James wouldn’t press the subject.

“Well what about you?” John asked eventually, downing the rest of his scotch in one jerky motion.

“What, a partner?”

John nodded, and James gave him a ‘yes, there is someone, but I’m not going to talk about it’ look, probably didn’t even know. He always was a terrible liar.

“Steady relationships have never really been my forte,” James said, taking a drink.

“So you haven’t asked her yet.”

James glanced at John and couldn’t help the soft, slightly pained laugh that escaped his lips. “Him.”

John just stared for a moment, and then a genuine, if not slightly broken, smile crept over his face. “It must be a military thing,” he said, waving his hand at the bartender for a refill. “Well, out with it, Bond. What’s he like?”

“He’s a complete arse.”

Both men laughed to themselves, but one ended with a sad, lost look, and the other just smirked into his drink.

John suddenly jerked his head up, taking the refill from the bartender. He couldn’t think about him. Hell, he couldn’t even think about his name. It froze up his brain like his wicked smile used to do, and he hadn’t come here tonight to mope. “Anything else, or just an arse?”

James thought for a moment about Q. The smirk he wore, the way he had to have things be put back in the same place to the millimeter, the way he laughed quietly, just loud enough that Bond was able to hear him.

“Just an arse.”

John raised his glass. “Well, best of luck to you, mate. Though I might laugh if _you_ end up being the one who settles down to a domestic life. Now, I’d like to get completely and utterly plastered, if that’s all right with you.”

James saw the pain in John’s eyes, but he didn’t comment, just nodded and raised his glass in return. “You’re safe with me, Doc. I’ll get you home.”

“221B Baker Street,” John said, and then proceeded to do just what he said he was going to.

Two hours later, James paid off their sizeable tab and pulled John out of the bar. A cab pulled up and James rode back to 221B Baker Street with John. On their way up the stairs, James half carrying his friend, John suddenly pointed at James. 

“The cabbie,” he said, his words slurred. 

“I already paid the man.” James pulled John up the last few steps and into an apartment with… interesting wallpaper. 

John waved his hand, half-falling, half-laying down on the couch. “No, it was the cabbie, I shot the cabbie, to save him, you know?” 

“I’m sure you did,” James said, patting John’s shoulder. He turned, his eye catching a yellow smiley face that had been spray-painted on the wall. There were a handful of bullet holes in it, and he shook his head. _That’s not a cabbie_ , he thought. “I’ll see you later, John.”

John didn’t answer, already fast asleep on the couch. Making sure to lock the door behind him, he went down the stairs and outside, raising his arm for a cab.

When he slid into the backseat, he found a tabloid stuffed down between the pleather of the seats. Giving the cabbie his address, he pulled it out and glanced at it absently, until his eyes fell on the headline’s photograph. His mouth went dry and his heart might have actually stopped for a moment, because Q was lying on the ground outside St. Bart’s and _oh god_ he was bleeding and…

The rational part of Bond’s mind forced him to take a deep breath and look at the photo again. It wasn’t Q, he realized with relief, mostly because the picture said the man was a Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but also because James knew that Q wouldn’t be caught dead in a trench coat.

But, damn. The resemblance was uncanny. He flipped to the article and started reading about a man who had supposedly been a bloody genius, until he committed suicide four days previous and announced to the world that he was a fraud. Apparently, he’d been living with a Doctor John H. Watson, retired from Afghanistan…

Bloody hell. He must have been John’s bloke. James frowned, because there was something else tugging at the back of his mind. Something else had been going on four days ago. Q… Oh. Q had been obsessing over locating _something_ , hadn’t he? James thought back.

Oh, bloody buggering hell. 

It made sense. They looked so much alike, and James had never known Q to put visible effort into _anything_. They had to be related. God, it made sense. And John… 

James froze, remembering. Q had found who he was looking for. He remembered _that_ clearly, the relief in the young man’s shoulders and the relief he had felt. That meant Sherlock Holmes was alive. That meant that John, one of the few people that James considered to be his friend, was grieving unnecessarily. 

He had his hand on his phone, ready to call Q and demand why the hell he was keeping this a secret, before he stopped. Q was brilliant. The man always had a plan (or three or four), and he never, _ever_ did anything without thinking it through. So, as much as he hated to admit it, there was probably something going on, some sort of plan. 

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. _Holmes_. Slowly, a smirk crossed his face. Q’s files were above his security clearance, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need them. He had half of his Quartermaster’s name. _Holmes_. Well, that rolled off his tongue quite nicely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 50+ chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Comatose" by Skillet.
> 
> Video tribute for Chapter 3: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wFO1o7moVM


	4. This One Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late nights + sentiment + Everyone knows Q has a cat = Chapter Four
> 
> This is Bondlock. This will be so much more.

It was nearly midnight by the time Q had finished setting up the firewalls he’d deconstructed only moments earlier. Q had to patch up the holes Mycroft had slipped in through before his brother got another opportunity to bother him at work. He spent a few minutes trying to manually hack the system himself, determined that neither of his brothers would ever be able to find their way inside again.

Twenty minutes later, he had a printout in his hand and smile on his face. If someone wanted to hack the system, they would have to be Q-good, and only Q happened to be Q-good. Not even his brothers would get past this one.

Q grabbed his laptop bag and his coat, nodding at the night guard as he left. It was slightly ridiculous, really, because even if there was no emergency, he’d be back in six hours. If there /was/ an emergency (like 009 getting Shanghaied _again_ ) he’d be called back in to fix the problem, because really, he was just a glorified repairman. 

He arrived at his flat ten minutes later, immediately putting on a pot of tea and changing into his pajamas. After the water had boiled, he poured it into a Scrabble mug identical to the one he had at Q-branch and carried it to his room, along with his laptop. He was reminded of the first conversation he’d had with 007, and if he was honest with himself, he thought about that conversation more often than was probably proper. And it was probably even less proper since thoughts about that conversation inevitably led to thoughts about Bond's icy blue eyes.

It was disturbingly easy to log into the MI6 database remotely. Making a mental note to fix that the next time he got bored, he hacked the CCTV system and hooked it up to the program he’d created to find Sherlock. He hesitated for only a brief second before imputing Mycroft’s picture. The only reason he was okay with checking up on his brother was the simple fact that no one would ever know, which was good. Sentiment among the Holmes boys was not something that… existed. Or appreciated in any way, shape or form.

Mycroft was in his office, sipping on a glass of high-quality gin. Q smiled a bit, and then turned the camera away from the window. It wouldn’t do for anyone else to be spying on the British government.

Sherlock was next. It took Q a bit longer to track him down, because the man had never stopped moving. He eventually found him in America, holed up in a cheap hotel somewhere in Brooklyn. Q felt a brief pang of sympathy for whoever was running the front desk, and then zoomed in the camera to see what Sherlock was doing on his computer. 

“The Blog of Dr. John H. Watson.”

So Q checked up on him next. The poor man still hadn’t moved out of the flat he’d shared with Sherlock, and he still hadn’t even tried to get himself into a new relationship. Q watched him for a moment, until the man looked up and frowned in the direction of the CCTV camera. He raised his hand and flipped the camera off before getting up and pulling the curtain closed. 

Q smirked. He liked this one.

Bond was next. Q would never admit it, but he checked on the agent every night, just like he did Mycroft and Sherlock. He worried. The man seemed to attract trouble wherever he went, and Q was sure that someday he was going to get the call that 007 had started the biggest bar fight in the history of England... or the world.

Bond was in his flat, sprawled across the end of his bed, a well-worn copy of _Lady Chatterly’s Lover_ in his hands. Q felt a grin tug at his lips, and he made a mental note to rib the agent about that one later.

*****

Bond stretched before leaning down to pull another shirt from his case. He disliked unpacking almost as much as he disliked medical, but he always took care of his clothes. James Bond was not James Bond without his signature Armani suit, and he knew this very well.

As he moved to put the shirt in the drawer with the others, it shifted in his hands and something fell out, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Instinctively, James crouched, glancing around before picking up the object, realizing with a bit of an odd grin that it was a gun.

He turned it over in his hands a few times before it dawned on him that this was the gun Q had been badgering him about finding since… Bulgaria. Two months ago. James frowned at the case on the ground, and then at the gun in his hand, pausing a moment before his frown faded.

/I should return this to my Quartermaster immediately,/ he thought to himself. /He’ll want to know his precious gun is safe./ He slipped the gun into his waistband, he grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and headed outside, raising his hand to hail a cab.

He hesitated a bit over the address. He knew it; he’d looked it up after their first meeting, but he’d never had the occasion to speak it. It felt… odd. Bond put the sensation away for later analysis, and settled for watching the dark scenery flash by his window.

Minutes later, he paid the cabbie and climbed the steps to Q’s apartment. He tried the handle (locked), and knelt to quickly and efficiently pick the lock before stepping inside and silently closing the door behind him.

Q’s apartment was neat. Lived-in, obviously, but also meticulous. James found himself admiring the collection of tea on a shelf in the little kitchen when he heard the soft sound of snore coming from the bedroom.

Smiling a bit, he stuck his head inside the room, his eyes falling on Q’s sleeping form. The genius still had his glasses on and his laptop perched on his knees, with a cat curled up next to his hip that watched Bond’s every move. The agent had to suppress a laugh. Q looked even younger than he normally did, and much, much more vulnerable, even with his guard cat next to him.

Leaving the gun wouldn’t hurt, he decided. He padded silently into the room, setting the gun down gently on the bedside table. That was all he needed to do. He could leave now.

Except… he couldn’t. Well, he /could/, and he should but he rarely did what he should. He reached over and plucked Q’s glasses off his face, folding them and setting them down beside the gun. The laptop was removed next, and Bond fully intended on just setting it down and walking away before his Quartermaster awoke to find a certain double-oh in his flat.

Bond didn’t fancy being shot with the gun that had already caused so much trouble.

His finger grazed the thumb-pad accidentally, and the laptop flickered to life, its screen illuminating the room with a soft white glow. Bond immediately reached up to close the lid, but something on the screen caught his eye. There were two windows open, and both of them were called “007 LOCATION.” Looking closer, Bond saw that one of them was a map with a flashing red dot, and the dot was sitting right on top of Q’s apartment.

The other was a camera feed that showed the street in front of Q’s apartment where the cab had let him out. Bond felt his heart rate increase for a brief moment before he realized that it was Q’s computer he was looking at. He could trust Q. Q was one of the good guys. As he set the laptop down, it occurred to him that Q had been tracking him as he’d fallen asleep. 

The thought brought a larger smile to his lips than he would admit. He reached for the blanket at the end of the bed and shook it out, bringing it up to cover Q. He made to tuck him in properly, but with a hiss and a swipe of its claws, the cat left three red marks on the back of Bond’s hand. 

The message was clear. _This one is mine. Find your own._

Bond moved away from the bed and cat innocently, raising his hands a little. “Goodnight, Q,” he said softly. The door closed quietly as he left, and inside, a pair of green eyes glowed in the darkness, fixed on the sleeping Quartermaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "3AM" by Matchbox 20. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAYiSPK1Vpg


	5. Priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banter + oh my god the innuendo + and Bond gets his feelings hurt = Chapter 5
> 
>  
> 
> This is BondLock in Camelot. This will be so much more.

“I think there’s someone watching me.”

Q sighed and looked up at the double-oh leaning against his desk. If it had been anyone else, he would have taken the statement seriously and set up surveillance to see if there actually _was_ anyone watching him, but it was James Bond, and James Bond didn’t come to his Quartermaster with his fears of being watched. James Bond blew up a sizeable portion of London to eliminate the threat, spent half the night shagging some floozy in an expensive hotel, and lost every piece of equipment he had managed to wrangle out of Q in the interim.

“I’m sure you can handle the situation,” Q said dryly, his eyes going back to his computer screen. “If there even is one at all. Paranoia is common among agents, 007. I, other hand, have a very real, very tangible problem.” 

“Oh?”

“Indeed. Last night, _someone_ broke into my flat.” Q spared the agent a glance over the rims of his glasses.

James smirked just a little. “Did they take anything?”

“No, but they did leave me a present.” Q picked up the gun that had been left in his flat and held it up. “Particular model. Only four of them in existence.”

James completely ignored the ‘not amused’ look Q gave him, using the slight smile on Q’s lips to balance it out. “Odd gift,” he said, “for a man who makes guns. You’d think you’d have enough of them lying around that you wouldn’t notice one more.” James himself could almost hear the implied ‘or one less’.

“One should appreciate quality far more than quantity. However…” And here Q paused, smirking just slightly. “Considering your track record, I’m not sure you can understand what exactly that means.”

James looked at him in surprise for a moment. He knew Q to be sarcastic, mocking even, but the man had practically just insulted every person Bond had ever slept with. At least, that was how he was taking it. He wasn’t sure how else to take a ‘quality over quantity’ statement directed at him. “I can’t imagine you’ve had much experience with quantity _or_ quality.”

He enjoyed the blush that tinted Q’s cheeks pink much more than he should have. And he almost felt bad. Almost, but not quite. He was confident that Q could handle a little innuendo. 

“Bond, if you are trying to coax me into speaking about my personal life, _again_ , it’s not going to work.” Q kept his eyes trained on his computer, avoiding the gaze the agent had trained on him.

James opened his mouth to respond, but the words never made it out of his mouth. The door to Q-branch opened, the sound of a pair of voices drifting in. Q looked up, but James felt no need to. Hate was a strong word, but the agent had used worse before, and he didn’t need to turn in order to know that he despised the person who was walking thought the door.

“Can I help you, 005?”

The agent (he had some pretentious name… Arthur something or another) smiled at Q and set a spotless black case down on his desk. “I brought back my equipment from the Madagascar mission.”

Q looked at the case, and then up at 005. “Thank you,” he said, reaching out and pulling the case toward him carefully, as if afraid it was going to break apart in his hands.

Once. James had brought him back a case _once_ that had fallen apart when the hacker touched it. Once. There was no need for him to exaggerate. 

James couldn’t help but notice the flirting look that 005 was giving Q and it made him just slightly possessive. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing there. Q was replying with a flat tone and smiling insincerely at the man, and Bond had been in Q’s flat the night before and had escaped with nothing more than a cat scratch and a scolding look. He liked to think that if anyone else attempted such a feat they would end up at the bottom of a river with a bullet in their brain. 

“Perhaps you should take a page out of 005's book, Bond. Look at this.” His voice was almost reverent as he opened the case and looked at the gun inside. “Never mind that he returned his equipment. It’s also intact and on time.“

“At least I use mine,” James said, just loud enough that Q, 005, and Eve could hear him. Eve had to bite the inside of her lip to suppress her laughter, and Q just stood there, arms crossed, a corner of his mouth turning upward. He was about to watch a war and, like all Holmes, he was going to enjoy it.

“And do you properly finish the job?” 005 shot back, his eyes meeting Bond’s challengingly. Then, smiling smugly, he glanced around to the room to see who was listening to the exchange. There was only one minion close enough to hear, a scrawny brunette in a loose blue shirt, who quickly looked away.

“I always finish,” Bond said, adding “the job” almost as an afterthought. “Though I don’t believe you can say the same. Avalon, was it? Shame. He was a good looking one.”

“What’s a shame is you’ve never see me try.”

“It’s sad that you have to.”

“And it’s amusing that you’re failing miserably the one time you do try.”

“I’m delighted you find me entertaining.”

“I find you many things, Bond-”

“Attractive, experienced, competent, deadly, and overall, better than you. Yes, I know. Do try to restrain yourself, Pendragon, I don’t consort with my inferiors.”

Q sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. “If you two would like to continue your squabble outside, that would be greatly appreciated by those of us who have actual work to do. Some of us cannot afford to spend our time throwing testosterone at each other.”

Arthur snorted. “Oh, please. No one who works in this room has enough testosterone to throw.” 

Fifteen heads turned to glare at him.

“I think you should leave before the entire Q-branch decides to put your head on a stake,” Eve said, nudging 005’s shoulder slightly. He took the hint, and in Bond’s opinion, he tried too hard to walk out of the room with some dignity.

“005?” Q said as the agent reached the door.

“Yes?”

“17.”

“17 what?” 

“17 times. Your life hung in the balance 17 times on your last mission, and I tipped the scales in your favour each time. Try to remember that we hold your life in our hands. I suggest you be a bit more careful how you treat the members of Q-branch.” Q’s voice was low and dangerous, and it sent a chill up everyone’s spine, double-oh agents included.

When the door closed behind 005, Q snapped back to his usual demeanor, checking the gun over for damage. “I was serious about you taking a hint from our dearly departed. Just bring the lovely things I give you back. That’s all.”

“My priority is not the equipment, and yours shouldn’t be, either.”

James paused. He hadn’t meant to put so much bite behind the words, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He nodded at Q, a tight, sharp jerk of his head, and turned to walk away.

“My priorities do lie with a double-oh.”

Q had mumbled the words, and James had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t supposed to have heard. He let his hand clench into a fist as he left Q-branch. Fine. It was fine. It wasn’t as if he’d actually expected Q to like him. Sure, he hadn’t expected the man to like /005/ either, but whatever. Q was a free man. He could do whatever he wanted. He could do _whomever_ he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Mr. Brightside" by the Killers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDQChMHyBD0 to the video tribute.


	6. Just An Arse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a spy + Q is a spy + Bond is a spy + John isn't a spy + miscommunications galore = Chapter 6

John’s phone buzzed, and he reached for it, plucking it off the stack of newspapers on the coffee table. There was one paper for every day that had passed since Sherlock…, and John didn’t have it in him to call to cancel the subscription or even move the papers.

_Drinks. Tonight. 7. Michael’s Pub. Come if convenient._

For a split second, John expected to see a “-SH” at the bottom of the text, and his whole body thrummed with relief. But there weren’t any initials, and when he looked at the sender, it was James and not Sherlock. The sickening feeling in his gut was almost enough to make him throw his phone across the room for giving him hope then taking it away.

Instead, he typed out an affirmative and sent it off to James. The man had been there for him when he needed a drink. The least John could do was return the favor.

And, maybe, just maybe, get drunk enough to forget about Sherlock for a little while. Though he sincerely doubted it.

*

Q logged into the CCTV system, tracking James. The agent had stalked off earlier, and an angry James Bond was not something the hacker wished to unleash on downtown London. A genuinely pissed off Bond was not something he wished on anyone. Well, maybe _some_ people.

He found the agent in a bar. The blonde was downing shots as if they were going out of style, and Q noted that even the barkeep looked worried. 

“You’ve had an brilliant day, I see,” John said when he walked in, shrugging off his coat and trying to engage the man in some form of conversation before the alcohol numbed his mind entirely.

“I’ve had worse.” James ran a hand through his hair and tossed back another shot. The cheap alcohol burned his throat, and that distracted him just a bit. He wasn’t drunk enough yet, though, and every once in a while his thoughts would trail back to his Quartermaster. _The_ Quartermaster, he had to remind himself. Q didn’t belong to anyone. And that was when he would signal for a refill. 

“You died, Bond. I know you’ve had worse,” John said, taking a pint from the bartender. He looked at James with a patient but slightly exasperated look. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Bond looked at the smaller man and smiled sadly. “I’m just here to forget, not remember,” he said, knocking back another glass.

“I can drink to that.”

They sat in silence for a bit longer, drinking and trying not to think, until finally John sighed and turned to look at James. “So, how’s your boyfriend?”

Q felt something constrict around his heart. _Boyfriend_. Right. Of course James had someone. The man probably had four or five someones, and Q had been such an idiot to think that there was any possibility of…

Abruptly, he disconnected the video, his screen going blank. He had no desire to listen to the agent tell Doctor Watson about his fantastic boyfriend, and he doubted that James was going to cause any serious trouble while around the man who had controlled his brother.

Mycroft, who had been watching the exchange for the pure entertainment value, did not sign off. He heard Bond reply, “He’s not my boyfriend,” before downing another shot of liquor. 

“Oh sorry, mate,” John said awkwardly.

“No reason to be sorry.” James took another drink. _At least he’s slowing down,_ John thought. “He wasn’t mine in the first place,” James mumbled more to himself than to John.

John looked into his glass, unsure of what to say next. “Last time I was expecting a happy announcement to come in the mail,” he said, finally. The statement brought back a bitter memory of a parking garage and a certain man with an umbrella, and John had to grip his glass tight to keep from chucking it across the room in anger at the thought of everything Sherlock’s older brother had done.

“I told you then, he’s just an arse.”

Mycroft started shaking his head at the two men. Both of them were war veterans, supposedly hardened by years of violence and death, and yet there they were, sitting in a pub and whining about their feelings. He sighed and disconnected the video. 

Sentiment. What a waste of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "In the Next Room" by Neon Trees. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvEuPNU1kWg


	7. Q Isn't Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve is a couple's counselor + hungover Bond + Q isn't broken = Chapter 7

James walked into Q-branch feeling less than fantastic. He had a massive headache, everything was too bright, and he felt _sore_ everywhere. It wasn’t even the pleasant sort of sore that came after a night in the sack. It was the unpleasant ache that usually stemmed from a night spent draped over whatever piece of furniture he’d collapsed onto.

The problem was, he couldn’t remember what had happened between meeting John at the bar and waking up back in his flat with a roaring headache. And the way he felt he was pretty sure he had gotten into a bar fight and then been drug home by the bumper of a car.

When he stepped into Q-branch, it felt like staring into the sun. There were bright walls and bright lights and hell, bright _minds_ , but he would be eternally grateful that the only sound was the soft tapping of fingers on keyboards.

“Q,” James said quietly, in greeting, trying to avoid making the pounding in his head any worse.

“Can I help you, 007?” Q asked coolly, without looking up. 

James rubbed his temples and sighed, hoping that Q would pick on the fact that he had a bloody hangover and lower his voice. “I need the surveillance footage of me from last night.”

Q waved at the nearest minion. “Owis, please help 007 find what he needs.”

The man blinked at Q, and then at James, and then nodded and made himself busy with tracking down the footage. 

“You wound me, Q. I know it’s not mission-caliber, but I assure you my request isn’t trivial.”

When he responded, Q’s voice was tight and filled with ice. “I’d love to chat, 007, but I’m afraid I have more important things to do than be and your beck and call.”

James paused, and decided to blame the tone of voice he’d heard on his hangover. “Yes,” he tried again, “but I want your special touch.”

“I assure you that Owis is more than capable of doing the mundane task of finding surveillance footage for you,” Q all but snapped. There was a tone of finality in his voice, and James suddenly realized that the man hadn’t looked at him since he’d walked into the room.

 _Maybe he’s looking for his brother again_ , James thought a bit distantly, a bit hopefully. He knew it wasn’t true, though. During the three days that Q had been working like a maniac, he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything, let alone respond to Bond.

“007?”

The minion’s voice interrupted James’ train of thought. The agent turned around to face the man. “I have the video.”

Bond walked over and stood behind the man, watching the screen, bracing himself for the worst. As he watched, he realized that he definitely hadn’t gotten into a bar fight. He had, however, drunk himself into unconsciousness. John had proceeded to drag him bodily from the bar, into a cab, and then up to his flat.

James made a mental note to thank the man later.

“Thank you, Owis,” Bond said absently, going back over to Q’s desk. He reached out his hand, touching his arm. “Q, what –“

“007, I must ask you to remove your hand. I have work to do,” Q said, finally snapping his head up to look at the agent.

James froze, and then slowly retracted his hand. Q’s voice was cold and hard, and his eyes were as well, and it cut James much more deeply that he was prepared for. He murmured something that sounded disturbingly like an apology and retreated.

He had a problem. Two, if he counted his hangover. He didn’t know why his Quartermaster, _his Q_ , was acting so strangely. The man always bantered with him. Always, even if only for a few minutes. 

As he walked out of Q-branch, he pulled out his phone and sent Eve a quick test. He turned back for a short second, hoping to see Q staring after him as he always did. The brunette’s eyes, however, were focused on the screen in front of him, and James felt he heart sink just a little bit lower.

_Eve? Talk? Roof? Now?_

*

Eve pushed open the steel door, stepping out onto the roof. James was standing near the edge, hands in his pockets, coat flapping dramatically in the wind as he looked out over the London skyline. She let the door swing shut, and then said, “Are you going to jump?”

“Maybe.” He glanced back at her. “If I did, at least the last thing I saw would be a great view. London is gorgeous this time of day.”

Eve sighed. “You know this isn’t going to work, right? We’ve tried this before. You don’t die.” She walked up to stand beside him, close enough that their arms were almost touching. “Also I’m touched that you find the smoke and the smog better to look at than me.”

Something about the way James was standing, the way his shoulders were slightly slumped and his words were completely empty told Eve that this was something different. This was important. This was… oh. This was Q.

“You are the least of my worries at the moment,” James said quietly. Eve sighed and fervently hoped that the Quartermaster had picked that time to listen in to her earpiece, damn him, because Bond admitting that he was worried was as close as sign to the apocalypse as Eve had ever seen.

“Let me guess. Q?”

James just nodded. “I’m just trying to make sense of this. I don’t know what’s wrong. Something happened.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can fix this. Him. Can you fix him? He’s not… Q. Q banters with me, Moneypenny, and he’s not.”

Eve sighed. “You can’t just fix people, Bond, especially when they’re not broken. Q isn’t broken.”

“Yes, he is. Because if he’s not, then I did something horrible, and I don’t know what it is. God, I sound childish.” He sounded disgusted with himself, but when he turned to look at Eve his face was carefully blank. “He doesn’t like me. And, I don’t know how to explain it, but he’s not Q. Q isn’t cold. He can be sharp and rude and sarcastic, but he isn’t cold.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone likes me. Even you like me.”

“I shot you, 007.”

James waved a dismissive hand at her. “Yes, but you still love me. Everyone loves me. They may despise me at the same time, or be frightened of me, but they still like me. Tolerate me. Whatever.”

Eve closed her eyes for a brief moment. “First of all, there are plenty of people who don’t like you. If there were a club, which there might be, _005_ would be the president. Secondly, listen to me, because I’m only going to say this again: Q. Isn’t. Broken. You have to fix this.” She sighed, preparing herself for the ‘how am I supposed to do that?’ that would come next.

“And how do I fix…this?” Bond asked, his voice sounding desperate even to him.

The woman took a deep breath. She had joined MI6 to be a spy, not a couples’ counselor. “Take Q some tea, _after_ the minions are gone, and talk to him. Earl Grey, and don’t steep it too long. That alone is enough to make him hate you.” 

“That sounds a lot like an apology,” he said, warily. 

“That’s because it is.”

*

Eve left the roof, and Q tweaked his earpiece, disconnecting from her frequency. He stood at his desk for a long time, not quite knowing how to deal with the new information. Bond had been worried about him. Granted, he’d also called him broken and demanded that Eve ‘fix him’, but this was Bond. Bond, who didn’t worry. Bond, who didn’t care. Bond, who, apparently, cared about Q.

That made a warm feeling settle low in his stomach, and Q tried very hard to ignore it. He failed, however, when he realized that Bond was the one that needed… repair. Care. A loving touch.

And the smile that crept across his lips? That had nothing to do with the perfect cup of Earl Grey that appeared on his desk a half-hour later, or the note taped to the bottom that read ‘talk later.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Breakeven" by the Script. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38XOK5UNLOA


	8. The Only Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff + Q's cat + unsure!Bond + did I mention fluff? = Chapter 8

James lounged against a streetlamp across the street from HQ, waiting for his Quartermaster to come out. Eve’s advice to go in after the minions had left, while heartfelt, was useless, since their last shift ended at 3 am and Q left the office, usually, around midnight. So he was waiting outside for the young man, after practically passing him a note. Damn. He felt like a teenager again, and that wasn’t the only reason why.

He was restless, unable to sit very still for long. He paced and leaned and sighed and repeated the process and just _waited_ because there wasn’t anything else for him to do. _Am I nervous?_ he asked himself. _I don’t get nervous. I’m James Bond. I can’t get nervous._ He repeated the phrase in his head until he convinced himself that it was true, and the jitteriness faded to a miniscule twitch in his left hand.

The agent heard a noise and looked up, watching the door across the street open. A dark-haired man in a cardigan and ridiculously large glasses walked out, and suddenly every word Bond hand imagined himself saying to Q seemed ridiculous and inadequate. What could he say, anyway? “I don’t know what I broke, or how I did it, exactly, but I want to fix it, and this is what Eve told me to do.” No. James found himself sinking a bit deeper into the shadows. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He watched Q hail a cab and then drive off. He distantly wondered how much the man spent on cab fares in a month, and shivered. Maybe that was why he was always complaining about the budget. At least Bond had the Ashton Martin. Or, he would, after Q-branch finished piecing it back together. For a very brief moment, he imagined Q on a roller under his car, motor oil smudges over his cheekbones, with a few dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. 

James shook himself. Brilliant idea, that was. Fantasizing about his Quartermaster on a London street, right after backing down from a conversation he knew had to happen. Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? 

His knee-jerk reaction to any situation he didn’t know how to handle was to either start shooting or start drinking, and he didn’t think that opening fire in the middle of London, just a block from MI6 Headquarters, was a very good idea. So, ten minutes later, he sat down at some bar down the street and ordered a scotch. He went to take a sip from the glass, but the whole thing felt wrong. _Dammit._

He threw down a couple of notes and walked out of the pub, his feet carrying him down the street and toward Q’s flat. Half an hour later, as he stood in front of the door, the all-too familiar feeling of anxiety back in his stomach. _He already knows you’ve been there,_ he thought to himself, before going to his knees and picking the lock. He opened the door quietly and slipped inside, shutting it behind him. 

“For Christ’s sake, Bond.” 

He heard Q’s voice before he saw the man, his hand going to his hip reflexively as his eyes adjusted to the pitch-black darkness of the hall. He blinked a few times and turned toward the noise, slowly starting to see the outline of his Quartermaster, dressed in a raggedy t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. He very nearly laughed. Seeing Q look so… messy, was an odd thing. Especially when his eyes flickered over the gun in Q’s hands, the one that the man was still pointing at him.

“Wipe that bloody smirk off your face or I swear to God I will throw you back out onto the street.”

James raised his hands in a slightly defensive gesture. “All right, all right. I come in peace.” He paused suppressing a smile. Q was bantering with him again. That was a good sign. “I just want to talk. I think you can put the gun away.”

Q glanced down at the weapon and blinked, as if he was surprised he was still holding it. “Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat and flicked the safety on, gingerly setting the gun down on the back of the couch. “Yes. Could you get on with what you have to say? I don’t have all night.”

“Oh, so you want a quickie?” The comment fell from James’ lips before he could stop it, decades of speaking sarcasm as a first language so deeply engrained in him that it came as a reflex.

Q half-turned, raising an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

James licked his lips. “Who, me? I didn’t say anything. You must really be tired, Quartermaster, if you’re hearing things.”

Q pursed his lips slightly, but he led Bond into the kitchen. “I sincerely doubt that. I put a high value on sleep,” he said, going through the steps of making and pouring tea for the both of them. He set a mug down in front of James and slid into the chair across from him, his fingers curled around his own mug.

For a few moments, they both stared into their own mugs, not making eye contact, neither of them wanting to be the first to speak. James was about to make a comment about Q and his pajamas and doing damage, just to break the silence, but at that moment, a small grey cat padded into the kitchen. It gave James a look, eyeing him for almost ten full seconds before walking over and rubbing against his leg, its purr very loud in the quiet room.

“I'm surprised she likes you.”

“People tend to,” James answered, offhandedly.

“She’s a cat.” 

“Oh? And what’s your excuse, then?” He reached down to scratch the cat’s ears, not waiting for an answer. “What’s her name?”

“Temeraire.”

James glanced up, a slow smile curving his lips. “You named her after the bloody big ship?”

A faint pink tint spread across Q’s cheeks. “I’m surprised you recognize the name, 007. You never have struck me as the artsy type.”

“There are some people I am willing to make an exception for.”

“Some?”

“One, really.”

Q bit his lip, and James was fairly certain that it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. He also kept that observation to himself, not really wanting to find out how Q would react to being called adorable just yet.

“Lucky man.”

James smirked. “Well, he hasn’t gotten lucky quite yet.”

Q glanced up, one eyebrow arched. Bond froze. Some days, he thanked whatever god belonged to the country he was in for his ever-present wit, and other days, he wished he could just shut up.

“Like I said,” Q continued after a moment. “Lucky man. You don’t tend to stay in one place for very long.”

James opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted when the cat jumped up onto the table, turning her head to look at both men. Her tail flicked around, and she meowed, demanding attention. 

“He is the exception,” Bond said, picking up the cat and putting her in his lap. He petted her while looking at Q. “He is the only exception.”

Q ducked his head, looking into his drink, unable to formulate words. “You came here to say something of importance, I presume,” he said after a moment. “You did break into my flat after all.”

“I was rather anxious to meet Temeraire.”

“I’m sure you’ve met her before,” Q said nodding at the three scratch marks on the back of James’s hand.

James glanced at the scratches. “She’s rather protective of you.” He paused. “A sentiment I understand and share, mind you.”

“I don’t need your protection, 007.”

“No,” James agreed. “But perhaps I need someone to protect.”

Q froze, eyeing the man. James appeared to be regretting his words, and he was looking everywhere but Q’s eyes. His icy blue ones darted over the stack of books on the floor next to the couch, and then the collection of unburned candles, and then the cat for a good minute. When he finally, finally, looked back up at Q, the younger man smirked. “I could allow that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "The Only Exception" by the Paramore. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgbLErTQaio


	9. Everyone Hates Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hates Mycroft + John hates Mycroft + Q hates Mycroft = Chapter 9

Mycroft Holmes walked up the steps of 221B, the stairs creaking quietly with every step. He didn’t want to see John. He wasn’t important and terribly time consuming. But John was Sherlock’s… well, John was Sherlock’s, and he’d asked Mycroft to check up on the ex-army doctor. 

The door was open, just like it always was, even though Sherlock wasn’t living there anymore. If Mycroft remembered correctly (and he never remembered incorrectly), the man was currently in a hotel somewhere in Sussex, but as he walked in, and he heard the soft sounds of John moving about the flat, he wondered if anything else was going to be the same.

John looked up when he heard Mycroft walk in, and the look on his face was disgustingly hopeful. It fell the moment he realized that it was the eldest Holmes. “What do you want, Mycroft?” John asked from his chair, his voice cold.

Mycroft made to sit in Sherlock’s chair, and faster than he could register the movement, John was on his feet, cane in hand, pointing the metal rod at the man’s chest. His glare was icy, and he pushed the tip into his sternum a bit. He didn’t say a word, though, as he pushed Mycroft away from the chair. 

Adjusting his suit lapels, Mycroft cleared his throat. “I see you are… adjusting, well enough. I merely stopped by to see if I could be of any assistance.”

Even John, common as he was, saw through Mycroft’s words. “Get out,” he said quietly.

Mycroft couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stop himself. “With pleasure,” he said stiffly, giving John a bit of a supercilious nod before walking out of the flat. 

*  
Half an hour later, he was standing in front of the check-in desk in the middle-class hotel where Sherlock was staying. The man at the desk looked up, looking mildly irritated at Mycroft’s presence. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a John Lestrade.”

The man typed quickly on, the sound seeming excessively loud to Mycroft. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “There isn’t anyone here by that name.”

“Try Hamish Holmes,” Mycroft tried, resisting the urge to take the computer away from the man and find Sherlock himself. After some more incredibly loud typing, he looked up and directed Mycroft to room 221.

When Sherlock answered the door, he tried to shut it in Mycroft’s face, but not before the older Holmes could stop it with his umbrella. “Now, now, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, stepping into the room in the most dignified way he could. “I expected the sentimental name, but the room number? Honestly, Sherlock. I’m disappointed.”

“Coincidence,” Sherlock muttered. He turned his back on Mycroft, walking over to the new violin case sitting on a chair. He pulled out the brand new Stradivarius and put the bow to the strings, grating out three harsh notes. 

“Doesn’t exist.” Mycroft’s words were drowned out by the sounds coming from Sherlock’s violin. He waited impatiently, tapping his umbrella on the ground, until Sherlock stopped. “I worry about you, brother. Constantly.”

Sherlock waved the bow. “You can go worry about someone else, Mycroft. I’m not in the mood for your /worry/.”

“I know you have your reason for doing what you’re doing, but being sentimental about John isn’t going to help you get back to him any faster.”

“Don’t talk about John in that way,” Sherlock said with a flash of his stormy grey eyes. He leveled them at Mycroft, and pointed at the door with his bow.

The eldest Holmes sighed, shaking his head slightly as he turned to leave. There had been so much emotion in Sherlock’s eyes, his soul bared for all the world to see.

Mycroft thought he’d taught him better than that. 

*

Another half-hour of travel put Mycroft on Q’s porch, a migraine already on the way. He tapped the handle of his umbrella on the door and waited, fully expecting a half-naked MI6 agent to answer his knock. Instead, however, he was (pleasantly) surprised when it was a thin, black-haired man whom Mycroft still considered a child who answered the door.

“You know I prefer our conversations to be digital,” Q said with a sigh, turning away from Mycroft and shuffling back into the flat. “Even if it is when your lackeys are trying to hack my system.”

“I am afraid you’ve failed to comprehend the seriousness of what I’m trying to tell you.” Mycroft sat in one of Q’s armchairs, steepling his fingers under his chin. 

“And I’m afraid you’re being awfully vague for someone who so desperately wants his point understood,” Q said tiredly, not looking up at Mycroft. “What is it? Your point?”

“My point, as you are well aware, is not to flirt with trained killers. Just look what it got Sherlock,” Mycroft said in a calm, even voice despite the masses of irritation that were quickly piling up.

Q’s whole body tensed, and he turned to level Mycroft with a cold stare. “I understood your point quite clearly. However, seeing as it is completely inappropriate to my situation, I have elected to think of you as incorrect until proven otherwise.” Q’s speech, usually easy and even a bit sarcastic, was always stinted and stiff with Mycroft around. 

“How is this inappropriate to your situation?”

“Because, if you haven’t noticed, I am neither you nor Sherlock,” Q said, finally looking at his brother.

“You obviously need our guidance. Don’t pretend nothing happened when your favorite little MI6 agent came over last night.” Mycroft’s voice betrayed more emotion than he would have liked.

“First of all, I’m not a child,” Q said, his voice dangerously quiet and low. “Second, nothing happened when James came over last night. Third, even if something were to happen, I am an adult. I can make my own decisions. Just because you’re emotionally stunted doesn’t mean we all have to be.”

Mycroft sighed. His migraine was in full-swing now. He opened his mouth to tell Q that he _was_ the child, that if he didn’t want to learn from his own mistakes, he should at least learn from Sherlock’s, but the man grabbed a blanket off the couch and waved at the door. “Kindly see yourself out, brother. I know you worry, _constantly_ , and yes, the sentiment is appreciated, but I really don’t like you and I would rather not see your face. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Hate (I Really Don't Like You)" by the Plain White Tees. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSJ8O4f2l94


	10. It Seems We Share a Hobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 Holmes brothers + 1 trained assassin + 1 sad ex-soldier + 1 worried warlock = Chapter 10

The screen of Sherlock’s phone lit up in the dark hotel room, blinking with a new message. _7 Rowdell Road, London_ appeared on the screen, and Sherlock frowned as he reached for his phone. Mycroft had tried to coax him into London a few times, but he’d never been so blatant.

The sender’s number was childish and obviously fake. 012-3456-7890. Sherlock was not amused, and he tapped the text box, intent on sending a biting reply.

As soon as he touched the screen, however, the text was replaced with a picture. A picture of John, to be exact, curled up on the couch in 221B, Sherlock’s robe wrapped around him like an oversized towel. 

_6:15 am_ came the next text. Sherlock swallowed and locked the screen, laying back on the bed. John. Why a picture of John? And not just a normal, surveillance picture. No. It was a picture of John being vulnerable, hurt. But there was no accompanying threat, no Moriarty games, nothing. Just John.

A slow smile spread across Sherlock’s face. It had been a while since he’d had something to peak his interest.

*****

He stared up at the camera in the corner, waiting. He considered waving at it in an attempt to make his contact appear more quickly, but decided against the action. Sherlock Holmes did not wave at cameras.

A minute or two later, he heard footsteps, and slowly, he frowned. Unfamiliar gait. Skinny build, judging from how soft the footfalls were. Tall, confident. Eager, even. 

By the time he heard the steps stop behind him, he knew exactly who it was. “Quentin,” Sherlock said, his frown deepening as he turned around to face his younger brother. “I should have realized Mycroft would rope you into this, too.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t. You do so hate being wrong.” Q’s voice was light and slightly mocking. 

“So you are doing this of your own accord?” Sherlock asked. His mind was racing as he looked him over, deducing. Q had known that he was alive practically since day one. He’d simply been keeping his mouth shut, waiting. For what, Sherlock didn’t know. “What do you want, brother?”

“A favour.”

Sherlock huffed. “I don’t have the time or the inclination to do you any favours. You do realize what I’m doing, don’t you? That I can’t waste time right now. Tell me what you want so that I can refuse and we can both be on our way.”

“Tell John.”

Q’s voice was calm and slightly absent. None of the Holmes brothers were ever able to simply take advice, and since he was one of them, he could safely say that Sherlock was going to argue. “He needs you. Maybe more than you need him.”

Sherlock’s jaw tightened. “That’s why you used that picture of John, to guilt me. I have to say that I’m unimpressed with your creativity.” He flipped the collar of his trench coat up and turned, intent on walking away and ending the conversation.

“That wasn’t a picture.”

 

Sherlock paused. “That was a live feed,” Q continued. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” The detective turned back, his expression unreadable. “You aren’t going to like what happens between you two when you finally do decide to go back. Don’t make me tell him, Sherlock.”

“Are you threatening me?” Sherlock’s voice was flat, his eyes cold. “I know what I’m doing, brother. And I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t absolutely have to.”

Q took a step forward. The Holmes family had never been one for touching. Sherlock, especially, was very adverse to touch, except from a very select group of people. So he was surprised that his older brother didn’t flinch when Q laid a hand on his arm.

“Just talk to him.”

“Quentin, we aren’t the type of family to help each other and I’d like to keep it that way. So keep out of my business.” Sherlock jerked his arm out of Q’s grip and turned around, fully intent on leaving and not turning back.

Q bit his lip and in a last ditch effort to change his brother’s mind he shouted after him, “Dr. Watson almost jumped off St. Bart’s last night!”

Sherlock turned around quickly, his eyes narrowing. “You’re lying.”

“What would the point be in that?” he asked. He was lying, of course, one of the first things he had learned after speaking was lying, but he’d needed to stall for just a moment longer.

“You must be Sherlock Holmes.” 

Oh, yes. James had used his licensed-to-kill tone, and it sent shivers (and not entirely unpleasant ones) down Q’s spin. Before either of the Holmes’s could quite register what was happening, however, James had cocked his arm back and delivered a precise right hook to Sherlock’s jaw.

“That,” he said, in a low, calm voice, “was for John.”

The detective dropped, and even Q winced when his head smacked the concrete. Sherlock glared up at the blonde assassin, and Q could see the pure and adulterated hatred in the look. He ignored James’ offered hand, pushing it away when he levered himself to his feet.

“It seems we share a hobby,” James said with a nod and small smile. Q distantly thought of how the agent never ceased to amaze him.

Sherlock looked him up and down. “You mean, coming back from the dead? Hardly. I planned it all out to the last syllable, and you got lucky. We share nothing.”

Q watched the two men carefully as James stood innocently next to Sherlock. Well, as innocently as he could manage, considering he’d knocked the man to the ground with a single punch.

“I think we share more than you like to admit.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed, and he straightened his shoulders, looking hard at the agent. “Secret Service agent, a series of relationships, not that you could really call them that. You’ve just entered into a new one and have a lot of hope for it. Don’t hold your breath. You’re emotionally immature, and… oh. Well, that’s interesting. You want this to be more than a fling.” Sherlock glanced at Q, fishing for a grin. When he got none, he turned back to James. “You were recently shot in the shoulder and tried to drink away the pain, but that didn’t work out for you, either. You have more than a slight drinking problem, your poison of choice being scotch or martinis. Shaken, not stirred. You prefer your coffee black and like the blueberry scones from the coffee shop two blocks from here and you were going to bring someone a cup of Earl Grey but decided against it after a block of walking and dumped it on the street. My, my, Mr. Bond, you’re just a mess, aren’t you?”

James looked at Sherlock blankly for a moment. “Unnecessarily going into speeches about how clever you are.” He looked between Q and Sherlock, shaking his head. “Thank you, at least, for proving you two are related. As if the hair wasn’t enough.”

Q just grinned, but Sherlock frowned. He looked hard at Q, and then at James, and then his eyes went almost comically wide. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, well then.”

***

Merlin glanced absently at the surveillance camera, keeping an eye on Q. He knew the hacker was with Bond, but still, it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes on him. 

His eyes skated over the third figure, the one who was supposedly Q’s brother. Something stirred uncomfortable in his stomach, and he zoomed the camera in, just to check. One couldn’t be too careful, especially when one was dealing with one’s boss.

And quite frankly, Merlin was just getting used to being R. He wasn’t quite ready to be Q yet.

He frowned. The man, Q’s brother… he looked oddly familiar. He zoomed in the camera a bit more, tapping a few keys to make the black-and-white picture clearer.

There.

Merlin jumped back, his chair falling to the ground as he scrambled away from his computer. No, no, it couldn’t be, it was impossible. But, then, there was the evidence right in front of his own eyes.

Grey eyes. Black curls. Arrogant countenance. “Oh my god,” Merlin whispered, running a hand through his hair. “Mordred?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Change Your Mind" by the All American Rejects. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ihhq-YXq6U


	11. Mr. Relationship Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is alive + John is not amused + Bond is very much amused = Chapter 11

James knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t usually nervous; then again, he didn’t usually show up on his best friend’s doorstep after having punched his supposedly dead boyfriend in the mouth. _This nervous thing better not become a habit_ he thought to himself moments before John swung the door open to him. 

John was visibly angry. That was something James hadn’t seen since their military days, and he prepared himself to have to go a few rounds with the other blonde. Instead, though, John just moved sideways, mumbling something about having been about to text him. 

James walked in and let himself be led upstairs into the living room. He watched John collapse into a black leather chair and run a hand through his hair, sighing. It wasn’t until then that he realized that the ex-soldier wasn’t limping or using his cane. 

“He’s not dead,” John muttered after a few moments of tense, awkward silence.

A bit tentatively, James asked, “Who?” He thought that it might be best if John didn’t know that James had known all along that Sherlock was alive.

“Sherlock.”

“Your bloke?”

John glared. “Not anymore. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s going to survive long enough to be anyone’s bloke! I swear to God, if I get my hands on him…”

“You’ll thank heaven he’s alive, punch him in the face and then shag him into the mattress for a weekend straight.” James sighed and took a seat on the sofa. “Talk to me, John. Internalizing isn’t going to do you any good.”

John was silent for a long moment, his arms crossed on his chest. He glared at the wall above James’ head as if it had somehow affronted him. Finally, he sighed. “I got a text. A bloody text message! ‘I’m not dead.’ And I would have ignored it, really, because I’ve gotten those sorts of things all the time since he… but he signed it like he always did, and sent a picture of himself with the daily paper. The daily paper! Like he was some sort of kidnapping victim.”

“Was he the self-portrait-in-the-bathroom kind of guy?” James asked with a small chuckle. The weight of emotion in the room was suffocating him. 

John gave a bit of a rueful snort and shook his head. “His narcissism usually took the form of insulting people and touting his own intelligence.”

James laughed softly and relaxed a bit. John’s mood seemed to have improved slightly. At least he wasn’t threatening Sherlock with death anymore. “You have anything to eat?” he asked, shifting to his feet and walking into John’s kitchen.

“There might be something in the fridge,” John said, his fingers absently plucking the strings on Sherlock’s violin. He’d almost thrown the thing at the wall. Almost. But at the thought that Sherlock might be back one day, he couldn’t bring himself to wreck the Stradivarius. 

James opened the fridge. He froze, blinking, before turning to look at John. “Why are there fingers inside your fridge?”

“Oh, those.” John shrugged. “They’re from Sherlock’s last experiment.” James put on a pot of tea while John finished his explanation. “Something to do with a duchess and her cat. I don’t know. But I kept thinking about how pissed he would be if I tossed them out, and so I never did.”

James got out what looked like a leftover chicken breast and carefully checked the container for body parts before starting to eat it. John finally stood and went into the kitchen to make two cups of tea, and then both leaned against the counter while it steeped.

“So, your bloke,” John said eventually. “You like him, don’t you? I mean, actually, seriously like him.”

James hesitated. “I suppose,” he answered hesitantly. “Why?”

“Because you need to do this right.” John pointed a finger at him accusingly. “At least take him out to dinner before sleeping with him, yeah? I’m not going to sit here and watch you be miserable because you’ve got the emotional capacity of a goldfish.”

“Since when are you Mr. Relationship Advice?” James asked a bit tersely. 

“Since I very nearly lost the man I love. I’m not about to let you live in denial and a state of perpetual bourbon.” John’s voice was stern and slightly scolding, and he was looking straight at James.

“Oh, I see. Your boyfriend is alive and now I can’t get pissed anymore.”

“Exactly.” John poured the tea, and handed James a cup.

James replied with a quip about people being more amiable when they were getting laid, and John retorted with a line about the fact that James hadn’t bedded anyone since he’d become infatuated with this guy of his. They went on like that for an hour or so, before James remembered that he had a mission to go on the next day.

“Tell your boyfriend I said hi,” John told him as he set down his mug. James rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he left.

He hailed a cab and gave the cabbie Q’s address. He wished John really had shut up earlier about…everything. Q, his emotional capacity of a goldfish, and his drinking habit that his boyfriend (god, it was strange to even think that) had already brought up earlier. 

He was already trying to avoid thoughts of the last time he had gotten into an actual relationship, because she had betrayed him and died. The thought of Q doing either… James shook his head, his hand curling into a fist. No. He didn’t need to think about that. 

Because James liked Q Holmes. He was so much more than a quick shag. He was the first person James had allowed himself to care about since… her, and the thought of losing him _terrified_ him. He knew that if something did happen to Q, the man who was his last lifeline, his sanity would disappear. Any marbles he had left would go crashing to the floor.

He hadn’t noticed that he was standing in front of Q’s door, and it seemed that he had been for a while because the cabbie was gone and his phone was buzzing in his pocket. He looked at the screen, half expecting the message to be from John with another remark about Q but it was about the man in question.

_The key goes in the lock, Bond, and the reward waits on the other side. I'm the prize you'll get for using legal means to access my flat. –Q_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" by the Taylor Swift. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5WK9jLfUGk
> 
> You guys!! Thank you SO MUCH for 120 subscriptions. You have no idea how happy this makes us. The fact that there are 120 of you eagerly awaiting new chapters... yes. There is much happy making over here.


	12. Find Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Innuendos + one of Bond's stunts + Q has his brothers in his phone in binary code = Chapter 12

“Q, darling, sweetheart, light of my life,“ Bond began, his voice indicating that he needed something. 

“As much as I like to hear these terribly original endearments from you, James, we are pressed for time.” Q tapped a pen on his desk. “What do you need?”

“I could really use a plane ticket right about now.”

Q smirked just slightly, adjusting the volume of his earpiece. “You can print it out when you get to the airport. The plane leaves three hours from now from Esenboğa airport.” He couldn’t keep the happiness out of his voice. James had just finished up a weeklong mission in Turkey and Q was more than a little excited to have him home.

“And how much longer will it take for me to be in your bed?” James asked, and Q could practically see the lecherous grin on his face. That was the reason Q didn’t allow the man to be on speaker anymore. He had to personally handle every James Bond situation that arose, unless he wanted the minions to get an earful of advances from the agent.

Before Q could reply, however, James’ voice came over the line again. “Oh, bloody, buggering _fuck_.”

Q opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but the question died in his throat when the blinking green dot on the screen in front of him vanished. “Bond?” he asked, tapping a few buttons as he tried to reconnect to the agent’s earpiece. He got an error message and nothing more. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Merlin!” Q typed frantically, bringing up surveillance cameras and an outside audio feed. “Find Bond!”

“Didn’t you just have him on the line?”

Merlin’s voice was calm, collected and even a little bored in contrast to Q’s. He’d spent eight _centuries_ waiting and watching people die. He wasn’t about to get excited over one MI6 agent. He was slightly amused, even, because Q used his real name. Not that the man knew that it wasn’t just a nickname, but still.

“Merlin!”

Q’s voice very nearly cracked, and that shook Merlin. The last time he’d heard the Quartermaster like that was when Sylva had hacked their database, and everyone remembered how that had ended.

“I’m on it, Q. Last confirmed location, two kilometers outside Ankara. Time, 1832 hours. Pulling up any news casts from the area. No reports of explosions or firefights, nothing that really screams ‘007’.”

Q tried to calm down. Snapping at Merlin wasn’t going to solve anything, and it wasn’t going to get Bond back any faster. He tried taking deep breaths, tried to distance himself from the situation and make it completely impersonal to him like Mycroft and Sherlock did so often, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t detach. He was stuck there in his own mind, worst-case scenarios flashing before his eyes, about to suffocate in the small room and completely unable to help the man he loved. 

He had to find Bond.

But hours passed, until the stars came out and even Merlin was heading home, stifling yawns with the back of his hand. “Q, you should sleep. We’ll start fresh in the morning. It won’t do any good to kill yourself over it.” Merlin put his hand on Q’s shoulder, in the way a friend might, but Q just glared. His mind raced with things he could say, sharp, witty comebacks that would take the caring look out of Merlin’s eyes, but he couldn’t manage to care enough to spit one out.

“Go home, R,” he said instead in a tired voice. He almost never used Merlin’s title, and the single letter showed his second-in-command just how serious he was.

Merlin patted Q’s shoulder before leaving the man alone in Q-branch. As soon as he was gone, Q let his head fall into his hands. He couldn’t… he just couldn’t. He had tried everything, and Bond was still gone. James was still missing, and he couldn’t find a camera that had seen him or a signal that would trace him. 

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, just enough to hurt and remind him of where he was. He still had two very desperate options left, and neither of them would result in an entirely happy ending. He picked up his cell from the table and checked the messages, just in case Bond had decided to play dead again and texted to tell him he was all right. 

There was no message, though, and Q sighed, scrolling through his contacts to find a contact named 01001101. The other option, 01010011, would only be used if the situation got much, much more desperate, since he was technically supposed to be dead. 

Mycroft’s voice was quiet and annoyed when he answered the phone. “Quentin, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Find Bond.” Q’s voice came out much louder and much more forcefully that he had intended, but he didn’t correct it. 

“I’m sorry, but I must have misheard you. That sounded an awful lot like an order.” Mycroft was still half-asleep, but his ‘I’m not having any of your nonsense’ tone was always ready to go, and he did like using it with his younger brothers.

“It’s a threat, Mycroft.”

“Oh? And what makes you think you can threaten me?”

“I think you forget just how much power I wield, brother. Find Bond. Bring him back.” Q’s voice went cold. “That way, I won’t have to find someone with more authority than you and threaten her.”

“Are you threatening the Queen?”

Q barely paused. “Find Bond,” he said distinctly.

“Do you understand what you are doing, brother dear?” He said “brother dear” more like a title than a term of endearment. He knew that Q was serious, and he was treating him just like every other maniac on a rage with to much power.

“Yes, Mycroft, I do. Now find Bond.”

“Q, caring is not an advantage.” Mycroft’s voice came out smooth and calm, in no way displaying how he was actually feeling.

“NOW!” 

“Brother dear, you know that there are limi-“

“Mycroft! We both know that there are no such limitations for you.” Q’s voice came out sharper than Mycroft had expected and he paused just slightly before sighing.

“I will find him, but this will not be for free, brother dear. You will have to return the favor.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. Just find him.”

“Email the details to Anthea and myself. We will start in the morning.”

“Now, Mycroft.” Q growled into the phone.

“I told you not to flirt with trained killers.”

Q opened his mouth to reply, but the line went dead before he could. It was out of his hands and he knew that he needed to sleep. He needed to go home and eat take some sleeping pills to knock him out and go to bed. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave his desk He just stood and stared at the screen, wishing that Bond would magically show up, or that his phone would buzz and it would be Bond telling him to meet him in some expensive hotel.

But, of course, nothing of the sort happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Last Kiss" by Taylor Swift. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vI9ErcIQRJs


	13. They Weren't... /Together/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stressed Mycroft + Q doesn't like planes + John is used to getting into black cars that demand his presence = Chapter 13

Thirteen hours. It took Mycroft Holmes thirteen hours to find his little brother’s lost boyfriend, and he had spent six of those asleep in his four-poster bed. As soon as Q had called, he had sent Anthea a text and put her on the case with a few explicit instructions, leaving some of the more mundane tasks that had to be accomplished when finding a missing person to her, or whoever she passed the task to. Not that he would ever tell that to the youngest Holmes. 

“Is it finished?” Mycroft asked once the door had completely shut behind Anthea. 

“To which ‘it’ are you referring, sir?” she asked not taking the time to look up from her phone as she sat down in one of the armchairs.

Mycroft sighed considering the question himself before answering, “Anything.”

“The cases that need to be dissolved have been sent to DI Lestrade. Sherlock has moved to Paris, and we have positioned an agent within one block of him. The CIA is still being quite particular on how to handle the situation in Bolivia, though I believe that will change. I think they may have bitten off more than they can chew.” Anthea paused for a moment, looking up from her phone, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “And we found the MI6 agent we aren’t looking for.”

“Where is he?”

“The Czech Republic. I’ve emailed you the coordinates and address.”

“Of course he is.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, suddenly wishing he were a day drinker.

“Will you text my brother that information? I'm afraid I don't have the time to follow up on it today.”

Anthea nodded. “Of course, sir.”

*  
Q's phone dinged with a text, and he immediately picked it up. The text was simply a set of coordinates and an address from a blocked number, but he felt his heart leap in his chest as he read them. Bond. He could find Bond.

He quickly pulled up a website for the first airline he could think of and bought a ticket for the first flight to the Czech Republic. He was tapping his pen against his desk impatiently as he waited for the order to process when he remembered that Bond had been captured. Bond had been with someone who wanted information that the agent couldn't have been very accommodating in providing. 

And since James didn't do medical, Q purchased another ticket and sent an unmarked, black sedan to 221B Baker Street. He sent instructions with the driver to tell John that it was Bond, just in case he was unwilling to come, and if he refused... well, Q had a contingency plan. 

John cooperated immediately, however, and all too soon (yet, at the same time, not soon enough) Q found himself sitting next to the ex-army doctor in an aisle seat in the middle of a flying, oversized tin can. He tried his very best not to show the unease that was roiling in his gut, but from the way John was watching him, he got the distinct feeling that he could see right through his facade. 

When they landed, a black car was waiting on the tarmac for John and Q. They shared a look of slight annoyance before they both sighed and got into the car. A woman sat across from them, and John wondered briefly if Mycroft had gotten a new assistant because the woman was definitely _not_ Anthea. She was older, and her cold personality seemed to radiate off her naturally, whereas Anthea's ice was only detectable if she allowed it to be. 

“We have extracted the MI6 agent and placed him in a secure hotel. We are currently on our way there. After your drop, we will not be in contact again. Do not attempt to establish contact, please.” The woman's voice was firm, something that both the solder side of John and the Holmes side of Q could recognize and appreciate.

Neither of them asked the obvious question of why the hell they couldn't just send Bond back to London. Mycroft had already done more than he should have, and Q knew that he was pushing his luck already and would be paying heavily. 

The car pulled up in front of the hotel, and the woman looked at Q and John, nodding at the door. “Out you get.” 

They both scrambled slightly as they got out of the car and Q grabbed a small white envelope from the seat next to her. They walked inside, and after passing the double glass doors, John paused. 

“Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but who the hell are you?” 

Q was a little taken aback by the question. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected it; it was more the fact that it had taken so long to come up.

“Q.” 

“Excuse me?” John’s voice was polite and Q had no doubt that he was trying to be polite but a random black car had picked him up from his flat and told him that his best friend was in a hotel needing his help and had no other information.

“You can call me Q,” he elaborated.

“Okay…Q. What do you have to do with James?” 

The two walked through the front door as Q contemplated the question. What did he have to do with James? It was a simple enough question, but it brought up things unspoken. Agreements not to say certain things or talk about certain subjects, most of those including what the hell their relationship was.

Q opened the envelope he still held in his hands as they waited for the elevator. He found a room key card with a 1021 scribbled on it in Anthea’s handwriting. Q pressed the tenth floor button in the elevator and slipped back into his thoughts.

He and James had been…whatever they were for six months. They spent every night together that wasn’t preoccupied with work. Bond had stopped sleeping with people unnecessarily and Q kept himself out of the bars. Neither of them flirted with anyone they didn’t need to. But there was no conversation determining if they were a couple. There was no mention of dating or even official dates. They weren’t _together_ , they were just…together.

John and Q stopped in front of a dark wood door with 1021 in gold letters hanging on it.

“I’m his boyfriend,” Q said finally, and opened the door, looking back at the doctor.

John’s jaw was slightly slack and Q had to repress the grin trying to find its way to his face.

“ _You’re_ his bloke?” John asked, still frozen in the doorway.

“Yes, he’s my bloke. Now, get your arse in here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Dead Man" by Jars of Clay. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSTBnUA-lb4


	14. Teasing You With the Prospect of My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John being a doctor + John being a couples counselor + John is a certified Holmes locator = Chapter 14

“You’re being an arse about this. You know that, right?” John asked as he tied off the last of the stitches in Bond’s face.

James huffed his laughter, smirking a bit. “Would you like a formal apology for pulling you out of your drab flat to come stitch up your friend?” 

John gave him a pointed a look that James was all to used to being on the receiving end of. Actually, he couldn’t remember a time that he had seen the I’m-sick-of-your-bullshit look when it wasn’t directed at him. But then John looked at Q who was standing across the room, leaning against a wall and fidgeting with the edge of his cardigan. 

“You have to make it up to him, Jim. He was half way out of his mind on the plane ride here,” John said, his voice low. He tapped the wound, and met James' eyes. When James flinched away from the sting, he gave him a serious, knowing look.

“That’s because Q doesn’t fly,” James said, remembering Macau and Eve.

“He flew for you.”

James opened his mouth to give a quick retort, but John put a hand on his shoulder, using it to lever himself up. “I'm going to go talk to him. You stay here and try to look less like the damsel in distress who needed her knight in shining armour to come rescue her. And work on that apology.”

John walked over to Q, who looked up as he approached. “He'll be fine,” the blonde said. “He's making bad jokes and everything.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry to drag you away like –“ Q started, only to be interrupted by John.

“It’s okay. Really. Don’t worry about it.” John sat down next to Q. “If you're anything like Sherlock, I understand. Hell, if you're anything like _me_ , I understand. All of us would go to hell and back to rescue the people we love.”

Q looked up. “Love?” he scoffed. “I don't... what makes you think...”

John just chuckled quietly. “Definitely like Sherlock,” he said. “Listen, I'm slowly becoming aware that you Holmes boys have issues with emotions and appropriateness and all that other fun stuff, but I also know love when I see it.” He nodded at James. “And we both know he needs someone to take care of him.”

Q ran a hand through his hair, nodding. “Yes. Yes he does. Thank you again, Doctor Watson. I've arranged for a flight to take you back to London.”

“Thank you.”

“And one more thing, Doctor Watson. How did you know that I was Sherlock’s brother?” Q asked, trying to keep his voice uninterested. He didn't like the thought that he was particularly like either of his brothers, especially in a way that was so obvious that John Watson could see.

John paused, considering. “You look just like him, you know. Like Sherlock. And Mycroft picked me up. He doesn't do that for just anyone.” John smirked slightly, putting the rest of his things into his bag. “I’ll see you later, James. Rest, drink something other than alcohol, and eat some food.” John did everything but literally wag his finger at the agent, fixing him with a stern stare than James returned with a cocky grin.

John rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. He nodded at Q, and then ducked out of the room.

“Mycroft?” James asked.

“Another one of my brothers. His agents are the ones who found you,” Q explained with a small shrug.

“How?” 

“I try not to ask those questions.”

James chuckled under his breath, patting the couch next to him. Q moved himself to the end of the couch, and once he was sitting, James moved himself so that he could put his head in Q’s lap and lay his legs across the rest of the couch. 

“So, M’s pretty angry with me this time?” James asked after silence had settled over both men.

“He’s the least of your worries. Eve might have your head for this,” Q said with a small smile.

A comfortable silence settled over them. James was back with Q, and before too long would be back on some ludicrous mission that would make Q worry unnecessarily. All was right with the world.

“I’m sorry, Q,” James whispered as Q ran his fingers through his hair.

Okay, maybe all wasn’t right with the world. This was James Bond after all; he did not apologize for disappearing. Not sincerely anyway. And he sounded damn sincere to Q.

James could apparently read the thoughts on Q’s face as he continued. “I should have been more careful when I had someone like you to come home to.”

Q hummed quietly and ruffled James' hair. “I shouldn’t have been teasing you with the prospect of my bed.”

“Maybe if we had the same bed we wouldn’t have these issues.” James reached up, stroking his boyfriend’s cheek with the back of his index finger. Boyfriend. Yes, he decided, he liked the sound of that. 

“Are you suggesting we move in together?” 

“Would that be so bad?” James asked quietly. 

Q was silent for a moment, thinking and weighing the two options. “No,” he said after a long moment. “That wouldn't be so bad. Not at all.” He turned his head, pressing a kiss to James' palm. “I think I might like that, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Heart Vacancy" by The Wanted. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvAmymnBOlg


	15. Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has OCD + Bond's solution is sex + the fluff ends here = Chapter 15

Boxes. There were so many bloody boxes. James just didn't know where they all had _come from_. He didn't own that many things, and yet there were the boxes, stacked in the living room. He blinked, and then he had a beer in his hand and a Q in his arms.

James felt Q's chest inflate as the boffin took a deep breath, relaxing into the agent's arms. “We're doing well,” the younger man murmured. “Really, we are. Lots of progress.”

The blond pressed a kiss to the top of Q's head before taking a long draw of the beer. He knew that Q had gotten it especially for him, and James wished more than anything that he was able to finish it on the sofa with crap telly and his Quartermaster asleep on his chest.

Of course, that was not to be. James had slowly gotten used to Q using him as a recharging station, since Q seemed to use physical contact as a means of bracing himself to face the world, so when the younger man sighed quietly and stepped back, James downed the rest of his beer and picked up one of the box-cutters.

He slit open two boxes, pushing the flaps open to reveal piles of books. He picked a few up, and then a few more, staring at the boxes in something that was not quite astonishment. “Are these _colour coded_?”

Q looked up from the box of clothes he was unpacking, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “Shut up,” he muttered. “They distract me. I’ve tried organizing them by height, alphabetically, subject or author, but by colour is what works. We can get doors for the shelving if it bothers-.”

James shook his head. Q's first reaction was always to “fix” the problem, even when there was no problem to fix. “It doesn't bother me. It's a bit adorable, actually.” Flashing Q a grin that he knew would irritate the man, he started taking books out of the boxes. “What order do they need to go in?”

When Q didn't answer, James glanced up, expecting to see Q ignoring him in return for his teasing. Instead, however, the younger man was looking at him with a mixture of surprise and what looked disturbingly like gratitude. “Q? You all right?”

Q blinked, and then nodded. “Yeah, yes. Of course. Just thinking, that's all.”

“You do that too much,” Bond commented.

“Shut up.” Q ran a hand through his hair, still blushing lightly. “Lightest to darkest. Whites and yellows on the top shelf, purples and blacks on the bottom.”

James nodded, picking up a pile of lightly coloured books and carrying them over to the nearest shelf. Whatever was on Q's mind, he wasn't gong to press. He'd learned that lesson weeks ago. When the hacker was ready, he'd corner James where they couldn’t be seen, bury his face in his chest and talk, sometimes for almost an hour straight, about some detail of his past that wasn't in his personnel file. He'd spent twenty minutes extrapolating about how his favourite colour was cobalt blue and that it had absolutely nothing to do with Bond's eyes (arrogant sod). He'd talk about summer homes or ocean views or skies that took your breath away, and by the time he'd trail off and looked up at James sheepishly, the agent would be unable to do anything other than kiss him.

Which, of course, always led to Q commenting dryly that sex wasn't the answer to everything. 

Which, of course, had led to James proving to him that while it wasn't the answer to everything, it was a damn good way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

For now, though, he simply put books on the shelf, taking the time to make sure they were organized correctly. He was beginning to learn more and more of Q's odd little quirks, and each one delighted him.

Q bent, picking up a box of James' clothes. “I'm going to put this in the closet for you,” he said, ducking out of the living room with the box in his arms. He returned a few minutes later, but instead of going to unpack another box, he picked his way delicately over to James, slipping his arms around the agent's waist and nuzzling against his back. He realized belatedly that the blond had put on a CD, and there was soft music playing in the background. “James?”

The older man hummed before turning around and leaning down to kiss Q's hair. “Yes?”

“Colour isn't quantifiable. The alphabet only has twenty-six letters, and height can be measured, but colour is literally only perception. It's also continuous. If I had another shelf, I could start with black and work my way back to white, and then white to black, and on forever, without ever really becoming impractical. The alphabetical system only works if you use it once, and organizing by height creates a steady increasing or decreasing angle. It makes it numerical. I already see numbers everywhere I look, and those are _my_ books. My personal books. I don't want to see numbers there.” Q sighed quietly. “Does that make any sense?”

James stroked Q's hair, considered, and then nodded. “Even if it didn't,” he murmured, “it wouldn't matter. It's important to you, and it doesn't bother me.” He smiled softly, ducking his head to kiss Q's neck. “Shall we order dinner and call it a night?”

The younger man shivered slightly at the feeling of James' lips on his neck. “Mallory only gave me one day off,” he mumbled, his eyes closing as he melted into James' embrace. The agent went to move away, but Q's arms tightened around him. “Mm. Don't stop.”

Bond smirked against Q’s skin before muttering, “Fuck Mallory.” James pressed a kiss to Q's pulse, inhaling deeply and following his Quartermaster's instructions.

Q couldn't help but chuckle, leaning back enough to kiss the agent's lips. Temeraire brushed up against his ankle, obviously wanting attention. “James, I am very tolerant of what happens in the bedroom, but I have to draw the line at inviting my _boss_ to...” He was cut off abruptly when James growled, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Point taken. Boxes now. Bed later.”

“In the meantime, there is a convenient wall just to your left, double-oh-seven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "If It's Love" by Train. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Z-_hTqm_3c 
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	16. You Are a Snake (Hssss)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is not amused + John isn't either + surprise guest = Chapter 16

He should be used to getting messages telling him to get into the black vehicle. Really, he should. It had to be a Holmes thing. His “presence had been requested” yet again, by the eldest brother, and John was really getting tired of his fucking power-complex. 

It was too cold to be meeting up in abandoned warehouses to discuss things that didn't really matter. Sherlock was halfway around the world, finishing up destroying Moriarty's web, and John didn't have the faintest clue as to what Mycroft had left to talk about.

He threw open the door and stepped inside, looking up. The figure that met his eyes was not that of a posh man with an umbrella. It was the _other_ other Holmes, the one that looked strikingly like Sherlock, and he was sitting on a white leather couch with his phone in his hand, fingers tapping away at the screen.

He looked up when John walked in, smiling slightly. “Good to know I'll have some decent company, at least,” he said easily. “Though I'll still be the only person in the room who hasn't slept with my brother.” Q sent a sharp look across the room, to someone who was out of John's line of sight.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic. I never slept with your darling brother. Not for lack of trying, I might add. The things I would have done to him.”

Oh, god no. John knew that voice. She was supposed to be dead, dead and buried in some Middle Eastern country, and yet that _was_ her voice. He braced himself and took a few steps forward until he could see the (naked, of course) form of Irene Adler sitting on an identical white couch. She gave him one of those small, seductive smiles, and then looked at Q. 

“You aren't worried,” Q observed from the couch.

“Should I be?” John countered.

“Unless you're particularly frightenend about a history lesson on our boyfriends, I don't believe so.” Q's voice was bored, disinterested. He looked up from his phone for a brief moment, glancing at both Irene and John, and then looked back down, his fingers tapping away busily. 

“She wasn’t… _James'_?” John asked slowly. 

“She was.”

Obviously not liking it when the attention wasn't on her, Adler got up off the couch and made her way over to the two men. John tried very hard not to stare, because, committed relationship or not, she was very attractive. Q's eyes simply brushed over her (John hoped he wasn't taking her measurements, though God knew what the Holmes was doing), looking relatively bored.

“Having more luck than your brother?” she asked, putting her hands on Q’s shoulders and sinking down to straddle his lap.

“My brother allowed himself to become involved due to coercion and curiosity. I am neither forced nor curious. I already know everything there is to know about you, Ms. _Lynd_ , so yes. I am having more 'luck,' as you so crassly put it. Now, do get off of me. It is supremely difficult to work when you are trying to distract me with your body.” Q's voice was dangerously cool, and John could suddenly see how the youngest Holmes was related to both his brothers.

And Q had called her Ms. Lynd, and she was straddling him when he was obviously _not_ interested, and the entire situation was just _funny_. He tried to bite back the chuckle, but Q still shot him a small grin.

James was usually the only one who thought he was funny – most other people routinely told him to piss off when he went on a rant like that. James always looked at him in awe mixed with arousal and evidently, Sherlock had found someone similar with John.

“Someone's a little shy,” Adler teased, taking her chin his her hand and leaning down as if to kiss him. 

“Not at all. My disinterest in you has nothing to do with my social qualms, and everything to do with the fact that while everyone else in this room is bisexual, I am not. So, let me repeat myself, since it appears that you are either hard of hearing or purposefully dense: remove yourself from my person before I remove you.”

John figured the Holmes' had a special quality in their voices that made them able to make themselves sound bored and completely and utterly dangerous at the same time. 

“Would you really hit a woman?” Irene asked, her question accentuated by a finger caressing Q's cheek. 

Q grabbed her wrist, and for the first time, John saw pure fury etched onto his face. It added years that didn't belong to him, and John couldn't help but stare. He had seen the brothers irritated and frustrated, and angry on occasion, but he had never seen one of them look quite so murderous. Even Adler's facade cracked slightly as Q put her into an efficient wrist lock, her eyes widening in fear and surprise. 

“You are not a woman,” Q said, and the ice in his voice was nearly palpable. “You are a snake. You are a temptress, and a fiend, and a manipulator. Do you recall the verse, Ms. Adler?” Q's eyes flashed. “'He will crush your head, and you will strike at his heel.' Is that not what you do? With so many people trying to end you, you attempt to strike at where they are weakest.

“Well, let me give you some advice.” Q's voice hardened. “You will find that the area where I am weakest is also the area that I will fight most fiercely to protect. And unlike my brother, once you threaten me or anyone around me, I will not save you. I will ensure that you spend the short amount of time you have left breathing in sheer terror, and then I will end you so completely that you might as well have never existed. Is that understood?”

Adler swallowed and moved off of Q, jerking her wrist out of his grasp and holding it against her chest. Her surprise was quickly replaced by put-upon confidence, although John could still see a hint of fear there. “You're even more arrogant that your brother.”

“It’s only arrogance if you can’t back it up,” Q shot back, still holding his glare.

“Besides, no one is more cocky than Sherlock,” John offered quietly, and both pairs of brunette heads turned to look at him in surprise. 

Q gave John small smile as Adler headed back to her couch with a huff. “Sherlock might be arrogant, but he can back up a majority of his claims. I would have to say that Ms. Adler is the one whose confidence is unwarranted.”

“Really?” John asked, genuinely surprised that another Holmes would get so close to a compliment.

Q hummed his agreement quietly. “James will realize I'm missing in about... fifteen minutes. Sherlock likely already knows you're gone. I almost pity her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The theme song for this chapter is "Lie to Me" by The Wanted. Link to the video tribute: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbzy_wiVwPU
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	17. Anderson's 'Supposed' to Be Intelligent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't dead + Lestrade isn't hallucinating + Bond isn't amused = Chapter 17

Lestrade blamed it on exhaustion. He'd skipped sleep entirely the night before in favour of staying at the Yard to go over a case – yet again. With Sherlock's death, solving cases had become a three and four month process again, and this was a serial killer with a penchant for redheads. He really didn't want to find another young girl dead in a trashcan in London's outskirts. 

So, he had to be hallucinating. That was the only possible explanation. He stared, slack-jawed, up at the man who had swept into his office a few seconds previous, wearing that damn coat and sporting his signature smirk.

He had to be imagining things, because Sherlock Holmes was dead.

“The killer is the first victim's stepfather. Obviously. Just look at the buttons on his vest, Lestrade.” Sherlock gestured at the door. “Come along. We're leaving.”

“The buttons?” Lestrade repeated, fully aware that he was probably talking to an apparition. “What do the buttons have to with the case?”

Sherlock sighed. “The bruises, Lestrade. The bruises in the last victim's mouth. He gagged her with his vest when she screamed. Isn't it obvious?” He shook his head. “Idiots, the lot of you. Come on.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” That was Donovan. She came through the door a moment later, staring at Sherlock. “What are you doing here, freak?”

Well, obviously Lestrade _wasn't_ imagining Sherlock in his office. 

Sherlock gave Donovan a look that said 'stop being an imbecile' and motioned at the DI. “Talking to Lestrade, of course. And solving that case that has kept you all... oh, I see you've been cleaning Anderson's floors again.”

“Sir?” Donavan asked without ever taking her eyes off of Sherlock. “Is it illegal to murder someone who's already dead?”

“Let me get back to you on that one.” Lestrade stood, looking at Sherlock. “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help,” Sherlock said, and the DI could see just how much admitting that pained him. “No one else will give me access to what I need.”

“That's not what I mean. You're supposed to be dead!”

“And Anderson's 'supposed' to be intelligent, but I don't see anyone ragging on him.” Sherlock's voice was quick, disinterested. “Anyway, being dead was boring.”

“Of course it was.” Lestrade said, running a hand through his silver hair. He was silent for a while, letting the information process in his mind, and then suddenly he snapped his eyes back to Sherlock. “Oh, God, does John know?”

“He’s gone missing,” Sherlock answered, his voice tight.

“All because you couldn’t die properly.”

“Donovan!” Lestrade and Sherlock snapped at the same time. She gave them both a dirty look, and then spun on her heel, storming out of the office.

Satisfied, Sherlock turned to Lestrade again. “John vanished yesterday afternoon. Since then, he hasn't made any calls, answered any texts, or even used his debit card.”

“You're _worried_.”

“I'm furious, Lestrade, and you would do well to note the difference.” Sherlock straightened. “From what I've been able to pry out of my brother, it appears that our youngest sibling as gone missing as well. Taking the times into consideration, I believe they have been taken by the same person.”

Lestrade blinked. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Adler.” When Lestrade made not sign of recognition as to who the woman was, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Irene Adler. You know, the woman my brother told you about during one of your drinking sessions with Anthea.”

“She's dead!”

“So am I. Really, Inspector, you need to stop believing everything you're told.” Sherlock pulled something out of his pocket, the white collar he'd used in his disguise as a clergyman. It still had the faintest traces of red lipstick on it, as well as a set of tooth imprints. “It's her.”

“Damn it all to hell,” Lestrade cursed under his breath. He made his way around the desk and out the door, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on as Sherlock followed him out of the Yard.

Once outside, they were greeted by the sight of a man in a black suit, with hard eyes and a tense stance, despite the way he was leaning against the car. “Took you long enough,” he said in a gruff voice. “This your babysitter?”

“No,” Sherlock protested the same time Lestrade said yes.

“Really? Then why does the world’s greatest detective need a DI?” the man asked before getting into the driver’s seat. Sherlock huffed and walked around the passenger side of the car. Lestrade followed suit and the man took off quickly as soon as his door shut. 

The men sat in awkward silence as the car wove quickly through the streets, the images outside Lestrade’s window flew and blurred into each other. His mind slipped back to three years previous when he had been looking down at what he had thought was Sherlock’s body on a slab. He had been to hell and back going through every case Sherlock had ever had a hand in, Donavan had been filled with guilt, and Anderson too giddy to bear. Lestrade had watched John and Mrs. Hudson mourn his death and Mycroft laugh beside his brother’s grave. In hindsight that made a lot of sense, but at the time he had though Mycroft had completely lost his mind. 

But Sherlock hadn’t even died. And now he was back, three year later, telling him that John had been kidnapped by a dead woman and they were going to go rescue him and the brother Lestrade didn’t know existed with some man with dead blue eyes and a sharp suit. 

“Bond. James Bond; in answer to your question,” the man said suddenly, pulling Lestrade back to the present. 

“Why are you here?” Lestarde asked, turning his attention to him.

“Forget him, he’s stupid.” Sherlock waved his hand impatiently, and suddenly, James suddenly, took a sharp right turn, throwing Sherlock against the door. 

“You took a wrong turn!” Sherlock snapped.

“Sorry, I'm stupid.” Bond said dryly. “But it was worth it. Lestrade couldn't help but grin, and Sherlock opened his mouth to snap back something witty, but Bond cut him off. “Who’s the mark?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and thrust his phone into Bond’s hand. “This is the woman we’re after. Her name is Irene Adler, though professionally she is known as The Woman.”

The picture was, of course, from Adler’s website. A dark haired woman, with a whip, and bright red lipstick; the same photo he first saw of Adler when his brother had given him the case. 

Bond took one look at the phone before going stiff. “Her name is Vesper Lynd, and she’s dead.” His voice was low and deadly and coming out in a near growl. 

“I doubt _Vesper Lynd_ was her first name and I know that Irene Adler will not be her last. Do try to be more than just a mindless attack dog,” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade scolded.

“See? Babysitter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> There is currently no video for this week :( School got in the way.
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	18. It's Also Rude to Kidnap People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q + John + Adler/Vesper +Sass/Snark/Sexy = Chapter 18

“So, my darling little boy, how is that 'James will know I am gone in fifteen minutes' plan you had working out for you?”

Adler's voice was sickeningly sweet, and her smile was the same as she sat on the white leather sofa, her legs crossed. It had been three days since she had kidnapped the ex-soldier and the hacker, and in that time, John and Q had never left the warehouse. Adler had left for the nights, nights that the two men had spent attempting to open a door that had no apparent lock or handle. 

Q had killed his phone within 6 hours. He had only slept for a grand total of 5, and had spent the rest of his time conversing with his supposed-to-be-dead brother's boyfriend, and his own boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, who was also supposed to be dead. He didn't really find it surprising, when, at Adler's mention of James, he snapped. 

“Considering that, even after he realized that I was missing, his credit card wouldn't be cleared to buy a flight home until his mission was finished, it still holds true. His mission would take, at the very least, 24 hours to complete. The flight back would cost him 6 more hours, and even if he called ahead and voiced his suspicions, he would have to go to medical, not because he wanted to, mind you, but because he would be forced to. They wouldn't clear him for at least another six hours, because M would demand a psych evaluation, and some cool down time, because the last thing anyone wants is a 00 agent destroying London looking for his boyfriend.

“He would then go to Merlin, who would tell him that the tracking chip and the backup chip in my phone had been destroyed. He would spend approximately two or three hours with Merlin while he tried to track me.

“That would result in 7 sets of coordinates all around London and its suburbs.” Q took a deep breath.

“Don't think too highly of yourself. I did it so that James would have to come find me, personally. If I hadn't, someone would have caught on and sent a team in to retrieve me, and you, of course, would manage to get away. That wouldn't stop you, of course, because you _desperately_ want to see James.

“Now. Merlin would be working on narrowing down the results, so that James didn't have to waste time traversing half of England. That would take him approximately twelve hours, but the beautiful thing would be that he would hit a dead end. James would then call Sherlock, who would have to come back from Argentina.

“He would arrive at Heathrow 17 hours later. Sherlock would know almost immediately that it was you, but I'd be willing to stake my paycheck that you've left him a little puzzle, because you want to see him just as much as James.” Q paused. “Perhaps more. Hmm. Interesting. Anyway, I give Sherlock twenty-four hours to locate us. In conclusion, Miss Adler, they won't be late for another twelve hours.”

“Touchy,” Adler commented in her usual flirtatious tone. 

“Touchy?” Q repeated. His tone was low, and serious, and gave off a general 'don't go there' vibe. 

“As much as I’d like to see her head roll, let’s not provoke the man with a secret agent boyfriend,” John said immediately intercepting the conversation. He knew Sherlock was on his way, though he wasn’t sure he could last another twelve hours like Q was suggesting. 

“Oh, John, always to the rescue.”

“I’d just really like to see James and Sherlock’s faces when they get here and see you have kidnapped us.” He sent a sharp grim smile at Adler before turning to Q. “James told me that you moved in together after I patched him up in The Czech Republic. I’m sure that’s exciting.”

“Well my stitching has gotten better,” Q said turning away from Adler.

John let out a short laugh.

“Still no regard for his body then,” Alder commented from across the room.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think that either of us were talking to you,” John all but snapped at her. 

“It’s rude to ignore someone who’s right here, Dr. Watson.”

“It’s also rude to kidnap people, but here we are,” John said sharply and with a nod turned to almost completely face Q. Q was failing to suppress a grin as he looked at John.

“Knew my brothers had to like you for some reason.”

“Mycroft and I are not friends,” John said a little darkly.

“I said he likes you, he doesn’t like his friends, he likes his allies,” Q pointed out to the soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> There is currently no video for this week :( School got in the way.
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.
> 
> ALSO: due to RL issues (school, work, sickness, and tumblr) updates will now be every other week. BUT GUESS WHAT?!?! You guys get a Halloween special coming up here pretty quick. It will be updated as a chapter of England Would Fall, but will not be linear with the story. At all. In any way.


	19. Trigger-Happy Housecat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempted rescue + why is Adler always naked + everyone's favourite demon = Chapter 19

They each dealt with having to wait differently.

James took his gun apart, cleaned it, and put it back together repetitively, his eyes glassed over and mostly vacant. Sherlock sprawled in an office chair, fingers steepled under his chin, and Lestrade paced in the background, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It had taken all of thirty-seven seconds for the detective's ego to brush up against the agent's, and Lestrade had made them sit on opposite side of the small office, just to put that physical distance between them.

“You aren't going to need that,” Sherlock said abruptly, motioning at James' gun. “She just wants to play a game.”

Q's minions had been able to narrow down the likely radius to a few blocks, although the three of them still had no green light. James wanted to go in, guns blazing, and Lestrade wouldn't have stopped him, but Sherlock had just rolled his eyes and pointed out that the Woman's game wasn't bodily harm. It was blackmail.

“Someone is getting shot one way or another,” Bond said darkly. 

“Somehow, I doubt that. You'll likely see her and swoon, just like you did with Quentin.”

When James spoke again, his voice was almost a growl. “You're a someone.”

“Children, can we focus on the task at hand?” Lestrade's voice was terse and tight, revealing the strain that they were all experiencing and only he was emotional enough to show.

James looked up to answer, but the computer cut him off with a low tone. Sherlock bounded to his feet almost immediately, checking the coordinates on the screen. “Two blocks down, office building, basement,” he read off. 

“Let's go.”

James slid to his feet, holstering his gun as he did so. He led the way out of the building, with Lestrade and Sherlock following closely behind, all three of them strung taught with nervous energy.

They made their way to the other building, making their way to the basement easily. It was immediately obvious that it was, indeed, where Q and John had been kept. Obvious to Sherlock, at least, and Lestrade and James just nodded and went along with it, following Sherlock into the room. 

They all stopped as soon as they turned the corner to face what was in the room, which happened to be a naked Irene Adler, or Vesper Lynd, depending on the person viewing, sitting on the floor, handcuffed to a radiator. 

“Hello, boys,” she said with a smile that could disarm anyone.

“Vesper, where is Q?” Bond asked immediately. The room was completely empty except for two couches and them, with Q and John nowhere to be found.

“You two are frighteningly loyal to each other,” Adler said, rolling her eyes and recrossing her legs. “Would one of you boys be kind enough to uncuff me?”

Lestrade shook his head to clear his mind and rushed forward to unlock the handcuffs, helping her to her feet and slipping his jacket around her shoulders. She took it with a smile and when he thought no one was paying attention to him he started shaking his head and wishing he had a drink.

“I wouldn’t call it loyalty,” Bond said still glaring at her. Anger was the only thing that he could actually manage through the mud that was currently inhabiting his brain.

“Love then?” she asked with a smirk that only resulted in a glare coming from Bond and Sherlock.

“I sincerely doubt that my brother is capable of /love/,” Sherlock interjected. “We’ve played your game, time to play ours. Where are John and Q?”

“About that. Your old friend Moran showed up and knocked me out. I assume he has them,” Adler answered.

“Sherlock, why don’t I like the sound of this Moran person?”

James decided that he didn't like the way Sherlock's face had gone rigid, or the very slight tremor he detected in his hands. “Sherlock,” he repeated slowly. “Who is Moran?”

“An old enemy I'd thought I'd gotten rid of,” Sherlock answered curtly. With that, he gestured at Lestrade and spun on his heel, making the DI run to catch up with him.

He left his coat with Adler.

She slipped her arms into the sleeves, and then her hands into the pockets, leaning against the wall while she looked at James. “You've aged,” she said, her tone casually disinterested.

“You died.”

“As did you, James.”

The agent could feel his hand curling into a fist at his side. “You were _dead_. You had no pulse. You drowned, _Vesper_.”

The Woman opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the acrid smell of sulfur filled the air, and James blinked in amazement at the short man in a pristine suit who had appeared next to Adler.

A moment later, he felt his gun go off, realizing belatedly that he had _shot_ the newcomer on instinct. Adler's eyes went wide, and she jerked away from him, but the man didn't seem perturbed at all. 

“I liked that shirt, you trigger-happy housecat!”

James just stared, watching as blood poured out of the wound in the man's chest. He seemed annoyed, of all things, and he had barely faltered. He raised the gun again, intending on going for a second shot, but the man simply waved his hand.

“Please. My dear, would you kindly explain to the dashing Scotsman in front of me that riddling me with bullet-holes will only do to make me irritated?” 

“James…” Adler said quietly, touching his arm gently. He immediately jerked away from her touch and didn’t lower the gun.

“What are you?” Bond asked in almost a growl. 

“Crowley, King of Hell,” the man says smoothly with a charming grin. “Now don’t let me stop you. Tell Mr. Bond all about our deal.”

“Deal?”

“For power. He gave me the ability to get what I want,” The Woman explained slowly, watching Bond’s carefully impassive face.

“I can give people whatever they want. Anything and everything for almost nothing; just their souls,” Crowley said in an almost bored tone. Bond stared at him, trying desperately not to show the immediate thought of Q, where he was, and if he was hurt. “Lucky for you I know all about you, and you have done more than a few…favors for me over the years. A few early check-ins if you know what I mean.”

“Why lucky for me?” Bond asked coolly.

“Because, Bonnie, I can tell you where your precious Clyde is.”

“For my soul? Sorry, already traded that one in for a gun,” Bond said, still keeping his calm demeanor despite the fact that he had just been confronted with the king of Hell.

“Soul? How boring. I just want you to keep doing what you do…forever.” Crowley grins like a man with a secret.

“You want to make me immortal and tell me where Q is? Why do I get the distinct feeling that this is too good to be true?”

“No, no, no, don’t be stupid. You won't be immortal, but once you die you start working for me full time.” Crowley blinked and when his eyes opened again they were completely black. Then he blinked again and they were back to normal.

“I have to deal with you forever and you only tell me where Q is now? Seems unbalanced. You tell me whatever I want whenever I want and you have yourself a deal,” Bond said carefully. His nerves were flaring to life and he had to use his basic training to appear even remotely calm. _It’s just gambling with higher stakes,_ his brain supplied. The thought helped to calm him down a surprisingly large amount.

“James, this is a bad idea. You only get ten years,” Adler tried again. When she realized that both parties were ignoring her, she tried again “Sherlock will find Q and John. Just please don’t-“

“This is no concern of yours,” he said coldly, without looking at her. “No time limit, I can live as long as I see fit, you give me all of the information I want whenever I ask, and I work for you after I die.” Bond spoke in a firm tone, and Crowley grinned at him.

“Shall we seal it will a kiss, darling?” Crowley asked, cocking his head and grinning in a predatory fashion that was all too familiar. James had seen it in the mirror more than once. 

With a “if that's what it bloody takes,” he stepped forward, gripping the fabric of Crowley's shirt directly over the bullet hole. The kiss was hard, quick, and rough, and when he pulled back, Crowley grinned and disappeared.

Adler looked at him in disappointment, but he ignored her in favour of the address that had suddenly popped into his head. He pulled out his phone, pressing the green call button.

 

“Sherlock? I have an address.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> There is currently no video for this week :( School got in the way.
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.
> 
> ALSO: due to RL issues (school, work, sickness, and tumblr) updates will now be every other week. BUT GUESS WHAT?!?! You guys get a Halloween special coming up here pretty quick. It will be updated as a chapter of England Would Fall, but will not be linear with the story. At all. In any way.


	20. Halloween Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, dear readers :)
> 
> drunk!Q + fantastic costumes + general cuteness = Chapter 20

“I'm not going.”

“James, it's not going to be–”

“I'm not going, Q.”

Q groaned, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “It's just a party, James. A masquerade. And it's only going to last for...”

“That isn't a masquerade.” James was leaning in the doorway, shaking his head. “A masquerade involves people of class, and expensive drinks, and masks, and uncomfortable unfamiliarity. Not... punch bowls and sexy versions of every costume known to man.”

“Please?”

James frowned at him. “Why is it so important to you?”

Q waved his hands in a vague motion of dismissal. “Everyone will be there. Relaxing. Eve and the minions and a handful of agents, and perhaps even Mallory, if Tanner can get him to loosen up.” He shot James a sharp look. “It's going to be fun.”

Pushing off the wall, James walked over, leaning over the back of the sofa to wrap his arms around Q's shoulders. “You know,” he said in his ear. “We could stay here. Have some fun of our own.”

“And be interrupted by costumed children every seven minutes,” Q added. Nevertheless, he leaned back into James' arms. “If that's the only sort of fun you're after, it will be easier to get it at MI6. Fewer interruptions. And free drinks.”

“Free bad drinks.”

“Eve set up the catering.”

James considered that for a moment, pressing distracted kisses to the column of Q's neck. “I'm not dressing up,” he said after a long moment. “No makeup. No ridiculous costume.”

Q tipped his head back, smiling up at him. “No more than your usual, darling.”

“/I/ wasn't the one who took a liking to the liquid mascara.”

“James!”

“I'm not saying it didn't look good.”   
Bond had never actually been in MI6 on Halloween. He was always on a mission or avoiding it like the plague – which Medical might have given to him as a joke. When he walked in on the 31st he was suddenly grateful for never having been there before.

Apparently, Halloween was a very big deal at MI6. Almost everyone was dressed up, and those who weren’t dressed up had been given honorary halos or cat ears.

All of the minions of Q-Branch were dressed in elaborate costumes, more than one of them in plaid muttering “Son of a bitch,” and “So get this.” There were a couple with trench coats, zero personal space, and wings of varying styles strapped to their backs. More than a few Hogwarts students, including Merlin as Harry Potter. There was someone with celery, another as the 4th Doctor, more suits that Bond had ever seen in Q-Branch, and women with futuristic guns.

“Q?” Bond asked, coming to stop in front of the Quartermaster who seemed to have resisted dressing up.

“Yes?” he asked without looking up from his typing.

“I would have thought that you would have lead your minions into the costume battle,” Bond said with a smirk.

“It’s Cosplay, Q’s thief,” said a girl in a blue ball gown with “Police Box” written on it.

“Hush, TARDIS,” Q said sharply, taking the tablet from her hand and signing whatever she was offering to him. He gave her back the tablet and she went back to work.

“Why aren’t you dressed up?” Bond asked when he thought the minions weren’t listening and would interrupt him again.

“I had a meeting today,” Q explained.

“I just saw Mallory in a crown, Tanner as Indiana Jones, the head of Accounting as a cat, a Alec as Wonder Woman, and a Giulianna as Superman sitting in a meeting; I think they would have forgiven you for a today,” Bond said lightly. Q had been looking forward to Halloween for months. Something about being the only time of year that smoke coming from under a door went unquestioned. 

“He better come to the party because Alec as Wonder Woman is not something I want to miss…” Q trailed off when he looked back up at Bond who was giving him a pointed look.

“Q.”

“I didn’t want you to be the only one not dressing up,” Q explained quietly.

“Aw, who knew you were such a romantic,” Bond grinned at Q. It was a sweet gesture, hence the reason Bond didn’t really have a response other than snark.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow you up,” Q glared half-heartedly.

“With a pen?”

“Out.” Q pointed at the door and tried to keep the smile from his face. It didn’t work very well.

*

There was too much alcohol and not enough people.

That was the conclusion Bond had come to. Two hours into the party, he'd been handed no fewer than three drinks, and he'd finished each one of them. He didn't mind so much, because he was James Bond, after all. His alcohol tolerance was through the figurative roof. 

Q, however...

Well, he didn't have a high tolerance. Or any at all, really.

James watched him attempt to dance with Eve, his hips not even close to keeping time with the music that was blaring inside Q-branch. He was laughing, his face flushed, and he kept giving Bond the most seductive bedroom eyes the agent had ever seen.

And, to top it all off, the black furry ears poking out of his mess of hair weren't bad, either.

Bond had a matching pair, although his were orange and spotted. Eve had seen their lack of costumes and decided that it was her duty to bedeck them in finery. How she had settled on ears, Bond wasn't sure.

As one song stopped, Q stumbled his way over to Bond, his grin lopsided and the glass in his hand completely empty. He practically collapsed into the agent's lap, wrapping his arms around Bond's neck and leaning against him.

“'m a little bit drunk,” he slurred.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Bond said quietly, holding Q to his chest. 

Q made a low sound, turning his head to nuzzle against the crook of Bond's neck. “'m tired, too,” he murmured, before opening his mouth and beginning to suck a rather sloppy hickey onto Bond's neck.

Reluctantly, Bond moved him back, if only to protect the younger man's dignity. “Not in the office, Q. How many times have you told me that?”

“Seventy-six,” Q responded almost reflexively. He kept his arms wrapped around Bond's neck, but his eyes turned to focus on the party. He perked up a little when he saw Eve approaching, holding his hand out for one of the drinks she was holding.

Bond intercepted the pass and took the drink himself, setting it aside well out of Q's reach. The brunet reached for the second glass, and Bond took that one as well, throwing it back before setting the empty glass aside. Huffing, Q stuck his tongue out at the agent and wriggled out of his lap, stumbling his way over to the punch bowl.

“There wasn’t any alcohol in your drink,” Bond mumbled to Eve as Q left.

“Secrets are flowing faster than the alcohol, did you really expect me to be drunk during this?”

“Not at all Miss Moneypenny, not at all.”

After a group picture, people started to slowly trickle away. Bond watched them, having given up a while ago trying to figure out what their costumes were. After a while, Q came up to him, convinced that Merlin was actually magic. 

“Ready?” Bond asked as Q wrapped himself around Bond again. 

Q only nodded into Bond’s neck. Bond wrapped his arm around Q’s waist and lead him out of the room, only nodding to Moneypenny as they left. 

Once in the car and on their way out of the carpark Q leaned over the center console and started nuzzling against Bond's neck again, trying to resume work on the hickey he'd began earlier. Bond sighed, leaning his head away slightly. “Q, enough.”

“Why?” Q asked against Bond’s skin. He slid his hand down Bond’s chest to palm his crotch.

Bond sucked in a deep breath, grabbing Q's hand and bringing it to his lips before setting it on the console. “Because you’re drunk,” he said tightly. He tried to ignore Q's pout, but the next time he looked over, the boffin was curled up and sound asleep.

When they arrived at their flat, Bond got out of the car and made his way over to Q's side, easing the door open. His body jerked against the seat belt for a moment, before Bond steadied him gently, murmured, “It's all right, I've got you.” He bent, picking him up bridal-style, smiling when the younger man squeaked and clutched at Bond's shirt.

“Hush, kitten. I've got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
>  
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.
> 
> (Note: this chapter was not linear with the England Would Fall story. It's just a fluffy special.)


	21. 10 Bloody Fingernails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Please heed the new warnings)
> 
> Torture + torture + Sebastian Moran = Chapter 21

The room was dark. John's eyes had long since adjusted, but that didn't change the psychological effect a dark room had: paralysis and panic.

A flame flashed to life, and John tried to twist away from the lighter, but he was already as far away from the scarred man as he could get with the restraints holding him in place. The flame curled around his cheek, and he was only barely able to stop himself from crying out. Struggling in his bonds as the pain increased, John finally shouted a curse, and an empty smile spread across the other man's face. He clicked the lighter off and pocketed it, stepping back to look at his victims.

John and Q had their wrists tied to a section of piping above their heads, the rope just slack enough that the balls of their feet touched the floor. It was an exhausting position to maintain, and John's bad shoulder had started aching seven minutes after the ropes had been cinched.

“What is it that you're after, Moran?”

Q spoke as firmly as he could, but the words still came out weaker than he would have liked. Moran hadn't even touched him yet, other than to position him to tie the ropes, and he was still reacting unfavourably.

The man turned to face Q, cocking an eyebrow. “You know who I am. Impressive.”

“Taking an interest in what my brother hunts has always been a game of mine,” Q countered, forcing a smile. He could hear John panting quietly, the sound only broken by the occasional sob and the steady /drip drip/ of blood on the floor. The burns hadn't been the first injury Moran had inflicted on John – the blonde's shirt was stained red with blood.

Moran said nothing in return, evidently bored with conversing already. He turned to John and pulled a cigarette out of his own pocket, rising up on the balls of his feet to look John in the eyes. He smirked slightly as John's eyes opened, and then raised his hand, slapping him across the cheek he'd burned a few moments earlier. “Good boy. Thought you fell asleep on me.”

He gave John another wolfish smile before he lit the cigarette, taking a long drag. He blew the smoke in the other man's face, and then made to drop the cigarette on the ground. He paused, though, letting his eyes flicker back up to John's face. “Hold still for me,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to hold one of John's eyes open. 

Paling, John struggled against the bindings, pressing himself against the wall behind him as he tried to squirm away. His eyes darted between the approaching cigarette and Moran's face, his breath quick and panicky.

Q saw the desperation in the blonde's face, and the silent plea for help. He didn't even think about his actions, twisting his body so that he could spit on Moran. The man immediately dropped the cigarette, surprise showing on his face before it was replaced with pure anger. Q regretted the decision almost instantly, but there was nothing he could do about it now. As Moran wiped the spittle off his face, Q glanced at John, unable to place all the emotions he saw there. Thankfulness, obviously. And worry.

Pity, as well.

Moran shook his head, walking over the metal trolley at the side of the room. He had a set of instruments laid out there, ranging from small scalpels to switchblades to blowtorches to corkscrews. He picked up a hunting knife, hefting it in his palm for a moment before turning back to Q, his eyes flashing dangerously. He made a noise in his throat as he approached.

“God damned hero complex.”

The first cut was across his cheek, quick and surprising. Q had been expecting a more calculated cut, but most thoughts fled as blood began to stream down his face and the red-hot pain seared him to the bone. Moran didn't stop to examine his handiwork, however. With the same speed and precision, he cut open Q's shirt, letting the shreds fall to the ground before he carved two letter's onto the hacker's chest.

Q screamed.

When he stopped screaming, he breathed in harshly, panting as he met Moran's eyes. “Fuck you,” he hissed. “JM? How typical.”

“Do you know what it stands for, then?”

Q's knuckles were white where the gripped the ropes. “Jim Moriarty. Your lover. Ex-lover, now though, isn't he? I remember a certain incident with a rooftop and a British Army Browning L9A1 and a bullet to the brain that he put there himself.” Q whimpered as Moran traced the initials with his index finger, screwing his eyes shut. 

“You are my retribution.”

“You are greatly overestimating how much my brother cares about me.” Q let out grunt when Moran punched him, quick and merciless. 

“Maybe so. Doesn’t make it any less fun, though.” Moran grinned again and Q watched as he went back to the cart to find another tool. He sent another sickening grin to Q as he picked up one of the tools and walked back over. There was a glint in his eyes. He really was enjoying this.

The tool in Moran’s hand finally came close enough for Q to see properly. Pliers. That couldn’t be good on any level. 

Moran reached above Q’s head, and one of the cuffs fell off, letting Q’s hand fall to his side. Q almost let out a sigh of relief as his position was changed, until it dawned on him exactly what the man was doing. He wanted to beg and plead and fight his way out, but his arm was heavy and Moran already had it in his grip again. 

Another grim smile flashed as the pliers were shoved under Q’s fingernail. Q managed to choke back his cry, only for it to turn into a whimper. One last smile and Moran pulled. Q’s scream echoed around the room, before turning into a smaller cry and he began to sob.

“Come now. We’re just getting started.”

It didn’t stop until 10 bloody fingernails scattered the floor and Moran moved back to John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
>  
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	22. Twice Isn't a Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torture + badass!Bond + dark!Sherlock = Chapter 22

Impatient.

That was the word that came to Lestrade's mind. And rightfully so, he wagered. Bond and Sherlock looked ready to snap each other's necks, both of them entirely fed up with waiting. Bond had somehow managed to get John and Q's location from... /The Woman/, and Lestrade found that he didn't particularly want to think about /how/ the agent had managed that one.

The car ride was tense but necessary. The address Bond had procured was almost on the complete other side of London from where they had been before and they seemed to hit every red light in the city. This did little to help deadly air around the men radiated and Lestrade even found himself getting wound up. 

When they pulled up to the address Lestrade rolled his eyes and mumbled an “of course it had to be here.” The place was an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of London, dating back from the Second World War. The city had left it there on the basis that it had some sort of historical significance, but Lestrade was 90% positive that they simply didn't want to deal with demolition costs and keeping the asbestos in the walls from becoming airborne.

“Where are they, Sherlock?” Lestrade asked, coming to stand next to the man.

Sherlock pointed up and to the right. “Second floor, most likely the room closest to the stairs.”

Bond, Lestrade, and Sherlock all pulled out their individual guns. Lestrade shot a questioning look at Sherlock, who brushed him off as they headed into the building.

*  
Three thumps of car doors reached the little room. Moran looked up from where he was wiping his bloody hands, frowning slightly. It appeared as thought their session was going to be cut short. Shame. He glanced over at Sherlock's brother – Q, as John called him – who started smiling brokenly, trails of blood dripping from his mouth.

“What?” Moran snapped at him.

Q’s voice was hoarse from all the screaming, but he still grinned as he spoke. “They’re here.”

“Your brother doesn’t worry me,.”

Q let out a laugh. “My brother doesn’t give a rat’s arse about me. But my boyfriend does, and he is going to be pissed.” 

Moran's fist darted out, catching Q in the jaw, but Q just laughed, grinning wider. “Idiot.” The man looked like he would have hit Q again, but at that moment, the door to the small room swung open, banging against the wall as a shot rang out.

The bullet from James' gun took out Moran's knee, and then man fell to the ground with a cry. James kept the gun trained on him as Lestrade and Sherlock rushed forward. The windows were blacked out, but James could still see the outlines of Q and John, tied up and looking very much worse for wear.

He felt distinctly torn between rushing forward to help Q and killing Moran very, very slowly. The choice was made for him, however, when Lestrade made a sound and he found himself holding Q up as Lestrade undid the handcuffs. The hacker hissed as James tucked him gently against his chest, trying to avoid touching his worst injuries.

“I'll be fine, James,” Q muttered into his shoulder. “John needs help, and Moran needs to die. Please.”

Lestrade glanced over at where Sherlock was checking John for a concussion. “I can take them to the hospital,” he said. “You and Sherlock take care of Moran.” At his worse, John covered Sherlock's hand with his own and nodded, and the detective helped him stand. Lestrade ducked under John's arm, and nodded at Sherlock before stepping out of the room.

Q nudged James' shirt with his nose. “I'll be fine,” he assured him, his voice still scratchy. “Come see me when you're finished, all right?”

James looked at him for a moment, unsure, until the sound of Sherlock talking softly drifted over to them. He raised his head to look over at the detective, who was standing over Moran while he spoke.

“Is he really monologuing? Typical.” Q's voice was light, or at least a mockery of light. He made to step away from James, but his foot caught on the ground and he stumbled, causing the agent to catch him, again.

“Fine, hmm?” James asked, mimicking Q's tone. Humour. Humour was the key, here.

“Completely.”

Q still didn't protest when James helped him down to the car, sitting him down next to John in the back seat. A moment later, before Lestrade had even started the car, the sound of glass breaking met James' ears. Shards of a window fell to the ground a few feet away, and when James looked up, he saw Sherlock standing in the now empty window frame.

Lestrade sighed. “He's going to throw him out the window. Fantastic.”

“Always was how he dealt with his problems,” Q murmured, before giving James a slightly bloody smile and shutting the car door. Lestrade pulled out, and Bond turned to walk back into the building. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and stepped back just in time to avoid being hit by a falling projectile.

“Bring that up,” Sherlock called from the window, and the body gave a groan as James grabbed it by the back of the shirt and threw it over his shoulder.

*  
“He's dead, Sherlock.”

The detective glared at James, kicking the motionless corpse of Sebastian Moran. “Very good observation, there, but I do not see the purpose of you statement. He's dead, yes. And I'm not finished.” He punctuated the last three words with vicious kicks, sending the body flopping onto its back.

James understood the bloodlust, perhaps more than Sherlock did himself, but there was a point where it became too much. He stepped forward, putting his hand on the detective's shoulder. “Leave it, Sherlock. You can't do any more to him. It's done. It's over.”

Sherlock spun, his lips twisted into a kind of snarl. James' hand automatically went for his gun, because the look in the man's eyes was feral. “Sherlock,” he said, more firmly. “John's at the hospital. He's waiting for you, and he needs you there. Do you understand?”

It took a moment, but the pure rage in Sherlock's eyes slowly bled away, leaving the man looking exhausted and spent. “I don't... I lost control.”

James moved his hand to grip the back of Sherlock's neck, his other hand falling from his gun. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Come on. Let's go.”

*  
Merlin's hands were shaking as he replayed the video yet again. Once was all right. The first time could have been a mistake, a misreading of the light or a look or _something_ , but twice? Twice wasn't a mistake.

Mordred was _inside_ Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 68 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The song for this week is ["My Boyfriend's Back](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Eq2oRpoq2s) by the Angels. (click it, and send[TheBritishGovernment](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBritishGovernment/pseuds/TheBritishGovernment) some love)
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	23. All the Drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt!Q + Protective!Bond + Hurt!John + Protective!Sherlock = Chapter 23

By the time Bond and Sherlock got to the hospital, John was already in surgery, Q had been dosed with a cocktail of antibiotics and paracetamol, and a MI6 cleanup crew was on its way to the abandoned building where they had left what remained of Moran. Tanner was en route to the hospital, and Lestrade, looking far too much like a worried uncle, had commandeered the rigid chair outside the surgery, his fingers tapping nervously on the arm of the chair.

It only took Bond a grand total of two minutes to flirt his way past the nurses and get Q’s room number. A handful of seconds later, he was slipping into the room, closing the door as Q turned his head to look at the newcomer, a slightly lopsided grin crawling onto his face as he registered that the man was Bond. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching the hand that wasn't hooked up to the IV out to him.

Bond paused in the doorway as he looked at Q. He looked even smaller than he usually did, covered in gauze and sporting a glazed look, likely due to the drugs. There were bandages on each of his fingers, and blood and God knows what else were being fed into his arm by the IV.

“Hey,” Bond managed to choke out. He stepped forward, his hands fluttering around uselessly for a moment before settling on Q's shoulder. “Q…”

“Don’t even start.”

“But-“

“Moran was a psychopath, and it wasn’t your fault,” Q said with a sigh. He looked up at James, but the man wouldn't hold his gaze. His eyes flitted over Q's body, eventually settling on the hacker's fingers, which were tapping absently against the sheets. 

“You’re tapping again,” Bond mumbled. He took Q’s hand gently and held the fingers still.

“Old habits die hard,” Q laughed.

“Not a habit, Q.”

“Shut up,” Q said, with a small smile, obviously having to fight to keep his eyes even half open.

Squeezing Q's hand gently, Bond stood up. “Budge over,” he murmured. Q gave him a grin and shuffled himself sideways so Bond could climb into the bed with him. The agent wrapped one arm gently around the hacker's shoulders, and Q rested his head on Bond. “I was worried about you. Christ, I love you, Q. Don’t ever do that again,” Bond mumbled into the dark mop of hair.

Q only hummed quietly into Bond’s chest.

“I love you,” he whispered again, and he felt every muscle in Q’s body go stiff as the words registered.

“Do you mean that?” Q asked quietly.

Bond racked his brain. There were a few ways to play it off, to make it seem like he was only joking, but when he opened his mouth to answer, all that came out was, “Of course.”

“Then I love you, too,” Q mumbled.

The sound of a throat clearing came from the doorway, and Bond glanced up to see a mildly blushing Tanner standing there. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said quietly, walking over to stand next to the bed. “M owes me twenty quid.” He coughed after he spoke like he was trying to disguise what he was saying, but the suppressed smirk made it obvious that he wasn’t really trying. He quickly slipped back to his professional self and looked at Q. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm on all the drugs,” Q said, his voice muffled by James' shirt. He held up his fingers, though, curling closer to the agent. “I won't be working for a while.”

Tanner winced slightly, but he nodded. “Of course, Q. Take all the time you need. R is holding things down fairly well.”

“You left _Merlin_ in charge?” Q asked, sounding every bit shocked and concerned as if Tanner had just told him he'd left the local elementary school class in charge of his branch. 

“He is your second in command…”

“There’s a reason I don’t miss a day of work,” Q said sharply.

“They seem to be working fine.” Tanner shrugged. 

“You think that, but they’re really all sitting around playing Spin the Bottle or something equally as ridiculous!” Q tried to sit up, only to have Bond pull him back.

“Thank you, Tanner,” Bond said with a nod to the man. Tanner took the hint and left the room, only stopping to leave Q’s tablet on the chair next to the door.

 

*

It was... odd, to say the least. When he was _waiting_ , Sherlock was usually a ball of nervous energy, unable to sit still for longer than the span of a single breath. It was different, now. He sat by John's bed, very nearly absolutely still, searching the ex army doctor's face for any sign of consciousness. He'd been out of surgery for a few hours, but he still hadn't woken up, and Sherlock, damn it all, was _scared_.

When he saw John's eyelids twitch, he almost gave an audible sigh of relief.

“John,” he said quietly, unsure of what to do with his hands. “John, please.”

It was a long moment, but only a moment, before John's eyes fluttered open. They focused on Sherlock, and then the man let out a groan, the hand farthest from Sherlock fumbling around before it settled on the button that fed him painkillers. He pressed it, twice, and then sighed, letting his arm flop back onto the sheets. “Prat,” he said under his breath. “I'm fine.”

He held out his hand, and Sherlock looked at it before wrapping his own long, cold fingers around John's. He felt more than saw John flinch. “Christ, Sherlock, you're freezing,” the blond said. He looked back up, and Sherlock thought he saw the switch, saw John go from patient to doctor in a flash. “There should be extra blankets in the cupboard. Get one, and I'll call the nurse in with a cup of tea.”

Wordlessly, Sherlock obeyed, going over to the cupboard. He heard John press the button to call the nurse in as he selected a blanket, and when he went back to the bed, John was watching him with an expression Sherlock couldn't place. It was... fondness, but more. Sighing, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He felt shaken, and he didn't like it.

“There you go,” John said with a small smile that only stretched the cuts on his face a little. “You okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” Sherlock repeated. “I'm not the one who got kidnapped, John. I'm not the one in the hospital bed. Of course I'm okay, what a ridiculous...”

John cocked an eyebrow, and Sherlock huffed. “I don't think you are,” the doctor said gently. 

Sherlock didn't say anything, just kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and waited until the nurse brought in a cup of tea. He took it from her, and then turned to John as soon as she left. “I'm coming home.”

“It's about time, you prat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 70 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> The song for this week is [Kryptonite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLP9CB9051U) by Three Doors Down. (click it, and send [TheBritishGovernment](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBritishGovernment/pseuds/TheBritishGovernment) some love)
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	24. Agent? Mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's psych evaluation + sass = Chapter 24

The doctors told him it was going to take two months for his fingernails to grow back properly. Two months. Q hadn't even noticed that his hands had started shaking until James had taken them gently in his, rubbing his thumb over the inside of Q's wrist. “When will he be able to go back to work?” the agent asked, and Q decided that he was supremely grateful for James. He needed to know the answer to that question, but he didn't think that he could have made himself open his mouth to ask it.

The doctor from Medical barely batted an eyelash, used to the sometimes ridiculous drive MI6's employees had to get back to work. “Physically? One week. If he keeps his fingers bandaged and delegates as much typing as he can, he'll be fine.”

Q let out a sigh of relief. If James hadn't been holding his hands, he would have been tapping out code on the sheets again, just out of the pure need to _work_ again. Laying there in the hospital was slowly driving him mad, and James understood that, but he and M had teamed up to make sure Q stayed in the hospital for as long as he needed to.

“And I suppose this means I am allowed to return home, now?”

The doctor sighed, but he nodded. “Take care of him,” he admonished James. “Keep him off his feet for a while, and for God's sake, make sure he takes his meds.” He pointed a finger at Q. “I don't want to see you back here with an infection.”

When Q didn't answer, already too busy picking at the IV in his wrist, James nodded. “I'll keep an eye on him.”

*

“...but I'm _fine_!”

“Q. It’s required. You’ve _quoted_ this at agents...”

Q huffed as he cut Tanner off. “I'm not an agent.”

“But you were captured in the field,” Tanner countered. “You know this has to happen, Q.”

“That doesn't mean I had to be happy about it,” Q snapped, absently picking at a loose stitch on his gloves. James had bought them, real leather and lined with sheepskin, and they were _incredibly_ soft, but he'd caught one of them the edge of a desk, and one of the stitches was already fraying. 

Tanner didn't move, and finally, Q dropped his hands. “Fine. Let's get this over with.”

The man nodded, raising his hand as if he wanted to clap Q on the shoulder, but he aborted the movement at the last moment, for which Q was supremely grateful. His back was still rather tender, and he'd even hissed at James a few times for touching him a little too roughly. 

“This way.”

Q followed Tanner to the evaluation room, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. The psychiatric evaluator was already there, and he nodded at Q as the hacker sat down, frowning at the two-way mirror. He knew that James was on the other side, and that was a small comfort, but he could have done without Tanner and Mallory.

“I’d like to start with some word association,” the man said, folding his hands over the open file in front of him. “Just say the first thing that comes to your mind. For example; I might say ‘Day’ and you might say…”

“Tea,” Q deadpanned.

“Alright...’Gun.’”

“Broken.” Q shot a sharp look at the mirror, and he knew he earned a grin from at least James, if not Tanner, as well.

“Agent.”

“Mine.”

“Woman.”

“Resurrection.”

“Heart.”

“Pulse.”

“Bird.”

“Plane. Superman.” The evaluator looked a little irritated at this and Q had to work really hard not to grin.

“M.”

“Letter.”

“Bond.”

“Covalent.”

“Sunlight.”

“Outside.”

“Moonlight.”

“Pointless.”

“Government.”

“Nosy.”

“St. Barts.”

“Hospital,” Q replied a little sharper than necessary. “I think that's all, isn't it? You've already reached your conclusion about my mental state, Mr. Penn. 'Traumatized, but fairly stable.'” He slid to his feet. “You sentence will likely be a reduced workload for the duration of my physical recovery, and a reevaluation afterward, at which you will deem me fit for active duty, so to speak.” He nodded his head, and then glanced at the mirror. “Good day, gentlemen.”

The psychologist stared at Q for a moment. As the boffin made his way over to the door, however, Penn stood, straightening his suit.

“Silva.”

Q laughed.

“Clever.”

*

Mallory's expression was stuck somewhere between pleasantly surprised and horrendously horrified. He watched Q leave, and then turned to look at Bond. “It seems out Quartermaster has taken a page out of 007's book.”

When Bond didn't reply, Tanner shrugged. “I don't know what you expected, sir, since they have been shagging for the past handful of years.”

Mallory raised a hand. “I don't want to know. Unless paperwork appears on my desk, I don't know anything about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 70 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	25. Christmas Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy Holmes + Father Holmes + Christmas sweaters = Chapter 25

James Bond was not the type to get nervous. Granted, he wasn't the type to go home to meet the parents, either, although the fact that he _was_ currently on his way to a meet and greet invalidated that bit of his personality just a little. 

He and Q had been together for almost two years, but it had taken a very heated conversation (or argument, depended on who you asked) with the mysterious brother Mycroft to get him to agree to a three-day vacation to the Holmes residence. Over Christmas. To meet Q's parents. More specifically, to meet Q's mum, who had apparently expressed great interest in him.

It was a two hour ride in the Aston Martin, complete with Q and Sherlock bickering because Q was allowed to sit in the passenger seat next to Bond. Sherlock had complained, saying that, due to his height, he should be in the front seat, and eventually Q had snapped, turning in his seat with glare at his brother. “When you're shagging the driver, you can ride in the front seat,” he said, his voice terse and tight and final. Sherlock looked duly cowed, and James and John exchanged slightly exasperated looks, but thankfully, the rest of the ride passed without issue.

When they finally did pull up in front of the Holmes Manor, James felt the unfamiliar twist of anxiety in his gut. Q sidled up to him as they went around to get their bags out of the boot of the car, pressing a soft kiss to James' shoulder. “It'll be fine. Father will hate you, and Mycroft already does, but Mummy will simply adore you. Just watch.”

“Helpful,” Bond said under his breath.

Q turned his head up to look at the blond, smiling slightly. “I already told you that it doesn't matter if they like you or not. I do. And that's enough.” He leaned up to press a chaste kiss to James' lips. “Besides. My father is civil enough.”

“And your brother?”

“If he says anything particularly damming, I'll tell Mummy, and she'll make him do the dishes,” Q replied, his voice dry, but completely serious. He grinned, and Bond felt okay until he saw the door open out of the corner of his eye to reveal a white-haired woman and two posh-looking men. One of them wore a three-piece suit, and the other looked as if he'd been tricked into wearing a bright red Christmas sweater. Upon closer inspection, James discovered that the snowflakes on the sweater were actually small, individually stitched “M”s.

Sherlock and John cut off their own conversation, which, from what James could hear, was about Sherlock attempting to convince John that they could still leave before anyone caught them. The detective, however, plastered an obviously fake smile on his face as soon as John laid a hand on his arm, reaching out to hug his mother as she approached, her arms spread wide.

“It's been too long, loves. I don't even want to know how Mycroft convinced you to come,” she said, patting Sherlock's shoulder before turning to John, giving him a smile as she shook his hand.

“John Watson, Mrs. Holmes,” John said, inclining his head a little in a half-aborted military bow.

The woman waved her free hand, shaking her head. “Please, call me Violet. Mrs. Holmes was my mother-in-law, and to be perfectly frank, I'd rather not you end up with the same opinion of me that I had of her.” She smiled at him before turning back to Sherlock. “Now. Go say hello to your father and take your bags upstairs.”

Sherlock huffed slightly, earning him a sharp look from both his mother and his boyfriend. He paused in front of the man in the suit and gave him a curt nod, his gray eyes flashing for a moment. “Father.”

“Son,” the man replied shortly, his eyes already moving past Sherlock to sweep over John and James, in turn. James met and held his gaze, which earned him a disturbingly familiar smirk before the man turned to look at Q. “Quentin.”

Q turned away from his mother's embrace long enough to wave in James' general direction. “Play nice, father. This is James. James, this is my father, Sherrinford Holmes. You two can bond over your passions for alcohol and beautiful women.”

Violet laughed, kissing Q's cheek before pulling back. “I am gorgeous, darling.” She gave James a smile, and he then shook hands with Sherrinford before picking up his and Q's bags.

“Care to show me where I can put these?”

Q extracted himself from his mother's fond clutches, hooking his arm around Bond's. “Up the stairs and to the right,” he said, leading Bond up towards their room. “She does get a little affectionate,” he said, and it sounded almost like an apology. “Though if something truly bothers you, she will stop. She's a lovely woman, really. And my father is... a bit hard to get to know, but you two _do_ share a few common interests, and I'm sure you'll get along and everything and...”

James stopped walking and set the bags down there, in the hallway. He reached out and drew Q in against his chest, ducking his head to nuzzle every so lightly against the Quartermaster's hair. “Q,” he said quietly, snaking his arms around his waist, “breathe.”

Q tensed for a moment, and then went slack, practically melting against James. “Breathing,” he murmured, and James chuckled, smoothing a hand down the back of his head.

“It's all going to be okay. I promise. And if it becomes too much, we'll leave.”

Q nodded, his face still buried in the middle of James' chest. “I got unused to them,” he said after a few moments, his hands crawling up the blonde's back to slip under his jacket. “They can be exhausting. Especially father.”

James took a step forward, and then another, until Q's back was pressed up against the wall. He ducked his head and nosed lightly at the crook of his neck, smiling slightly when he heard the boffin let go of a breath of air. “You don't have to apologize for your family,” he said softly. He pressed a kiss to Q's pulse, and then leaned back, meeting his eyes. “Your mother obviously cares about you. And I'm sure your father does, as well.”

“I know they do, but that doesn’t make them any less exhausting,” Q sighed with a smile. He pulled out of the hug and picked up one of the bags and started back to his old room.

James followed him into the room, stopping just inside of the door. The room was of average size, but what caught Bond's eye was the black writing that covered the walls. There was a huge, wooden headboard at the opposite end of the room, and one of the walls had a set of bookshelves that were veritably stuffed full of books, some of which appeared to be ready to topple off to join the piles on the floor. A safe sat next to a desk covered in papers, wire, bits of metal, and what looked to be computer parts, watch components, and a few kitchen utensils.

Q turned around and blushed immediately. “Sorry. I forgot that my room was like... this.” His voice was quiet, and he was staring at the bags. “I never could find someone fast enough to write ideas down on, so I would write on the walls.”

The image of a teenage Q, with a marker tucked behind his ear, clad in jeans and an ill-fitting jumper came into James' mind, and he chuckled quietly. Not that much had changed, after all.

“What?” Q asked, his voice a little defensive.

“Nothing at all,” James answered, setting down the bag he had been carrying. He reached out, then, slipping an arm around Q's waist and pulling him in close. “This must be what it's like in your brain.”

“To be completely honest, my brain is much more organized.” Q tucked himself against Bond's chest, nuzzling against him lightly. “Like a computer. With files and documents and such.”

James hummed, but before he could answer, Q's mother's voice came from down the stairs, interrupting him. “Boys!”

“Coming!” Q shouted back, pausing to plant a chaste kiss on Bond's lips before turning out of his arms, slipping into the hall and walking down the stairs.

Bond followed him into the living room where everyone else was, through four different halls and a handful of seemingly random turns. Q made his way over to John and Sherlock and Violet, but Sherrinford raised two fingers and motioned him over. 

The man offered him a glass of whiskey, and Bond took it. He could see Q watched carefully from across the room, so he winked before taking a sip of the drink. Pulling a face, he swallowed the mouthful, coughing slightly when it went down. 

“Is there a problem?” Sherrinford asked.

“With all due respect, _sir_ ,” Bond answered, his voice smooth. “I expected you to drink something more along the lines of The Macallen, not a no-name bargain bottle.”

Sherrinford smirked slightly, and James had the feeling that he had passed the man's test. Sherrinford moved around him to pour another glass of something obviously much more expensive, and then motioned across the room. “Give that to John.”

Obediently, Bond crossed the room, smiling at Q's look of triumph before handing the glass to John with a small shake of his head.

“Oh, for Cavell's sake,” Violet interjected, lifting the glass from James' hand and throwing it back all in one smooth motion. She sent a pointed look at her husband, and then turned to John and James. “Now. I could use you boy for a moment, in the kitchen.”

They both nodded and followed her out of the sitting room and into the kitchen. “Where were you stationed?” she asked John, her voice light and curious.

“Afghanistan,” John answered immediately.

She nodded. “I was in Japan for a period of time.” She began digging through a cupboard, making a pleased noise when she found what she was looking for. “Learned all sorts of things about natural medicines and the like.” She pulled out a jar leaves, the sight of which made both men tense up.

“That's not medicine,” Bond said stiffly.

Violet smiled. “Oh, good. I don't have to explain what this does, then?”

Both men shook their heads, resisting the urge to take a step back from the poison she held in her hands. “Don't hurt my boys,” she continued with a sweet smile, shaking the jar at them. “You may have them now, but they were mine first.”

They both nodded, and Violet smiled, putting the jar back in the cupboard. “Good. Now that we're clear on the subject, I have a few gifts for my boys that I think you will appreciate.”

*

Half-an-hour later, Sherlock was sulking on the sofa with John, glad in a green, sparkly sweater with a Christmas tree on the front, decorated with individually sewn on beads to mimic ornaments. Q was wearing his as well, although he was standing in front of James, waving his hands around uselessly. They were hidden somewhere in his sleeves, but that wasn't the only problem. The jumper hung off one shoulder, and it hit him about mid-thigh, giving him the appearance of a child trying on his father's clothes.

“Mother, I think you measured wrong in this instance.”

Violet said nothing, and Q stripped out of the jumper, pouting slightly as he thrust it at James. “Here. It will fit you better.”

James glanced between Q and Violet in askance, but the woman said nothing, so he gingerly took the blue sweater and slipped it on over his head. It fit him almost perfectly, and he couldn't resist humming a bit as he settled into the chair he was sitting in, a smile spreading across his face. “I don't know what you're complaining about.”

Q's eyes sparkled, and he slid into James' lap, curling up against his chest. “She made the bloody sweater for you,” he said quietly, his fingers dancing over the embroidered reindeer on the jumper. “Look. It fits you.”

James turned his head down, pressing a kiss to Q's hair. “You don't mind?”

Q chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. I'd much rather you wear it. They itch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 70 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	26. Uneasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murders + tired!Q + Moneypenny solves all = Chapter 26.

The number of minions in Q-Branch varied from day to day. Q had a mental register that kept track of them and notified him when one was missing, or if there were too many, and it almost never failed him. He had a very nearly perfect memory, and even if he wasn't the one to put out the weekly schedule, he knew who was supposed to be in the Branch and who wasn't.

It started when Taspar failed to arrive at work for two days, straight. Sudden absences were usually investigated immediately, taking into consideration their line of work, but Taspar had the supremely annoying habit of crashing. He would work for days straight, like Q, and then just like his Quartermaster, he would end up passing out and sleeping for twelve or more hours at a time. So when the man didn't come in one Thursday, Q wasn't worried.

When he was missing that Friday as well, Q sent out a two-man team around to his flat to check in on the man and make sure he wasn't still lying around the place. He sent them out at 12:24, and by 12:35, there was a forensics team and a decontamination team on the way to Taspar's flat.

He was reported dead at the scene.

Three days later, Drax was half-an-hour late for the beginning of her shift, and Q didn't hesitate in sending a double-oh to her flat to investigate. The agent called in the body forty-five minutes later, and Q swore a blue streak at anyone who approached him for the next handful of hours.

Security got upgraded after Drax.

For a few days, agents and officers accompanied the minions to and from work, and stayed with them while they were away. That seemed to do the trick, because for a week, everyone was okay. There were no more murders, and Q was spending upwards of eighteen hours every day attempting to figure out _who_ had decided to go after MI6 employees.

After three weeks, the minions started to complain about their escorts, and they finally convinced Executive that the agents weren't needed anymore. Not eight hours after that decision had been made, Annos was found in his car, gutted but still breathing. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and MI6 went on full alert.

The minions who could started staying in barracks in the tunnels and those who couldn’t were escorted everywhere by an agent. Q’s entire focus centered around finding out who would have the information needed to actually start killing all of the minions, in order of rank even. 

Everyone in MI6 became increasingly paranoid and skittish as time passed. Some people from other branches started refusing to go to Q-Branch, as if being murdered was contagious. 

After another week of agents escorting the minions again, Eve finally gave up and went to M’s office.

“Sir,” she said as she stood in his office, and he continued to ignore her as he read through a million emails that had piled up during lunch.

“Unless you’ve got a way to find who is killing the Q-Branch kids I’m busy,” he said distractedly. 

Eve had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She was used to Mallory’s rough demeanor when he was in the middle of something, but it still irked her. “I might. The Quartermaster has an older brother.”

“A few.” Mallory looked up at Eve and set down his pen before folding his hands on his desk. “One of them is a pompous, arrogant arsehole who runs our country and the other is a self-centered tabloid story who faked his death a few years back,” Mallory said in a bored tone.

Eve nodded. “Yes. The one who faked his death is a detective…” she started before Mallory interrupted her. 

“Who I have tried to contact and refuses to help.”

“Q can get him to help, sir. Blackmail skills run in the family,” Eve countered.

Mallory paused for a moment and considered the option. “Alright. Get Sherlock Holmes to help and I’ll be happy to authorize him. You’re dismissed.”

Eve nodded and left the room. She knew Q would probably be upset with her for bringing Sherlock into it, but if the prblem didn’t get solved soon, Q was going to be on the chopping block or Mycroft was going to get involved. She headed down to Q-Branch in the tunnels and found it full of skittish Q-Branch members and empty desks.

She found Q in his office, looking dead tired with bags under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises. “Q?” she said as she walked in.

He looked up at her and for a moment there was a look of confusion on his face, like if he wasn’t sure who she was. He motioned for her to sit, and rubbed at his face before giving her a weak smile.

“We need you to get your brother to help, Q,” Eve said carefully.

Q stared at her blankly for a second. “Sherlock?” he asked.

Eve nodded.

Q sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It's not going to be easy,” he said, looking down at his desk. “At all. Do you understand that? Just how uneasy this is all going to be?”

Biting her lip, Eve just barely refrained from commenting about Q's use of the word “uneasy.” “What do you need?”

“A bloody miracle, that's what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniTorchWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 70 chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...
> 
> Do you guys have something you want to see? Want to prompt us, or just say hello? Stop by our profile page. We've got a list of the fandoms we write for, and prompts would be totally cool.


	27. Normal, Narcissistic, Manic, Socially Impaired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shows up + Sherlock's an arse + Q is not pleased= Chapter 27

It took three days to convince Sherlock to take the MI6 case, even with John, Q, and Mycroft all bribing him. (Eventually Q traded a dinner with their parents for him to take it.) Q was more than just displeased by this, which was reasonable considering another one of his minions had been killed and their agent hadn’t seen a thing. He still came into MI6 in his usual arrogant manner and walked into M’s office with Moneypenny trying to stop him and cursing his name when he ignored her. 

Q was already sitting in the office just waiting for his brother to act like the insufferable child that he was. 

Mallory stood up to greet Sherlock. “Mr. Holmes.”

“Mr. Mallory,” Sherlock said as he grabbed the file out of Q’s hand. He flipped through the file for a minute, before sitting down in the other chair in front of Mallory’s desk.

“Someone with inside information, disgruntled former employee,” Sherlock said with a bored tone. He tossed the file back on Mallory’s desk and rolled his eyes.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Q grumbled. “We got that much.” 

“What exactly do you want from me then?” Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes.

“We haven’t fired anyone in Q-Branch for over a year. Interns got switched out about a month and a half ago, but they knew they were done at the end of their contract,” Mallory explained. “There’s no logical reason for them to attack the other Q-Branch employees.”

“People are rarely logical,” Sherlock countered with a sigh.

Mallory tried not to look annoyed or offended at Sherlock. “Well then find which intern is killing people.”

When Sherlock turned to look at Q, he almost appeared to be insulted. “This is what you traded dinner with Mummy for? You must be terribly worried for your own life.”

“Just find out who it is, Sherlock. That's all I'm asking.”

With that, Q left Mallory's office, his posture tense. He snapped at the intern who tried to talk to him about the schematics for an iris tracking chip, sending the poor man scurrying away with his tail tucked between his legs. 

When he finally arrived in Q-Branch, it took Merlin a second or two to realize that Q was very much not okay. He tapped a few keys on his computer to page Bond, and then got to his feet, putting a hand on Q's shoulder despite his protests and leading him into his private office.

“Here. Sit. Bond should be here in a moment.” Merlin nodded for Q to sit down in his office chair as he sat down on the couch against the wall.

“I don’t need Bond,” Q grumbled as he sat down behind his desk.

“No, you don’t,” Merlin allowed. “You just got out of a meeting with M and your brother, your employees are being murdered one after another, and the terrorists in Algeria are acting up again. You need a stiff drink, but it’s still office hours so you get your boyfriend instead.”

Q rolled his eyes and pouted slightly with a glare at Merlin. Bond burst into the room, a little breathlessly. He looked at Q and Merlin who both arched their eyebrows at the man.

“You said it was an emergency,” Bond snapped at Merlin.

“I hardly interrupted anything important.” Merlin gestured at Bond’s workout clothes. The corner of Q’s mouth quirked slightly upwards, but Bond glared at the man. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some Algerians to deal with.” Merlin moved past Bond with a smile to Q that told him that everything was under control.

Bond shut the door behind Merlin and sighed. “What’s going on?” Bond asked as he sat down in one of the armchairs in front of Q’s desk.

“Nothing. Merlin overreacted,” Q mumbled.

Bond arched his eyebrow and sat up a little straighter. “Over?” 

Q rolled his eyes. Bond had been more on edge than anyone since the minions started dying. He was already wary of Q putting himself in danger in any way shape and/or form (Q assumed it had to do with the particularly short life span of his lovers, especially the ones he liked), and now Q was in pretty dramatic danger. “My brother is in the building,” Q said like it explained everything.

“I assume he’s being his normal self.”

Q nodded. “Yes, his normal self. His normal, narcissistic, manic, socially impaired, self,” Q ranted. 

Bond stood up and circled around Q’s desk to stand behind the younger man. He started rubbing Q’s shoulders and said softly, “Always good to have the family around.”

Q huffed, but he relaxed into the touch, letting his eyes close as Bond's fingers worked magic on the muscles of his shoulders. “He's useful,” he murmured, his head tipping back slowly. “And he'll get the job done. He's simply an arse to deal with.”

Humming, Bond moved his fingers to the base of Q's neck, massaging gently. “Relax, love. He'll take care of the problem, and then things will go back to normal.”

Normal. Q was beginning to wonder what normal even was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 50+ chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...


	28. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q argues with Sherlock + Sherlock investigates + Merlin makes awful bait = Chapter 28

_Don't leave your flat. SH_

Q blinked awake, frowning at the blinking blue light winking at him from his phone. He made a noise in his throat, extracting one long limb from the mess of blankets to make a haphazard grab at his glasses and the device. He pushed the frames onto his face, and then thumbed in his passcode before pulling up the message and reading it with bleary eyes. 

_Can't. Work. Some of us have an office. Q_

He set his phone down and rolled onto his back so that his glasses weren't pressing into the bridge of his nose, wiggling back down under the blankets. Beside him, James moved a little, lifting his head to see what the problem was, but Q shook his head. “It's all right, love. Go back to sleep.”

James murmured something in return, and then pulled the blankets in tighter, the steadiness of his breathing and lack of movement in his limbs telling him that James had drifted off to sleep. Then the blinking light started up again, and this time Q didn't bother moving his torso.

_Some of us don't need an office to do our jobs. It's too dangerous. SH_

_I'm using R as bait. SH_

Q pushed his fingers up under his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. It was far too early to deal with family. 

_You're not using my second-in-command as bait. Q_

_It's a necessity. He's already agreed. SH_

Making a mental note to talk to Merlin about agreeing to... anything, Q sat up, running a hand through his curls. He tried to shush Bond when the other man stirred and turned over on his side, but the agent was already awake. “What's wrong?” he asked, sounding awake and alert, and maybe Q hated him for that, just a little. Damn being an agent. Q would have liked to see Bond wake up groggy just once.

“Nothing's wrong,” he assured him, his voice slurring a little. “Just Sherlock being an arse, as per normal.”

James blinked at him, and Q's eyes fell to the scarring visible on his chest in the dim light. The corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to James' shoulder. “Sorry for waking you.”

_Your boyfriend can wait, brother. Will you remain at home? SH_

Q huffed directly into the crook of James' neck, letting out a little whining noise as he shot back his answer.

_Yes, yes. I'll stay home and shag my boyfriend. You'd do well to do the same once in a while. Q_

* * *

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. He stuffed his phone in his pocket and looked at R, who insisted upon being called Merlin. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.

Sherlock studied the man in front of him again to reconfirm his first impressions. _Long hours. Pet lover. Linguist. Insomniac. Younger appearance. Liar._ Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. “Do whatever stupid people do.”

“That’s why I asked you,” Merlin replied without missing a beat. Sherlock gave him a flat look and a second later Merlin gave him a smirk before turning around and leaving the café where they had agreed to meet. 

Sherlock had been on the case for a few hours when he decided that the killer would be looking for their next target, and getting desperate for one at that. Soon after he came to the conclusion that he needed bait. He considered Q. He was the highest-ranking member in Q-Branch and the murderer wouldn’t be the first person to want him dead. It was the most logical to use Q as the bait. However, when he had went to text his brother and John had asked, Sherlock had explained. John told him to think all the way though the consequences. His mother and Mycroft would have his head for suggesting family be bait. “Right, not to mention what James would do to you,” John had added. He found Merlin soon after and the man had agreed without a second thought. 

* * *

An hour into his wanderings Merlin noticed that he was being followed. He couldn’t recognize who it was. He had seen too many faces over the years to actually remember anyone who he didn’t interact regularly with.

Somewhere along the lines Merlin decided to take care of the situation himself and lost Sherlock on the Tube. The mysterious man that was following him didn’t fall behind, though. 

His phone started ringing and Merlin was sure that it was Sherlock ready to tell him that he was a moron and that Sherlock couldn’t see him anymore. So, he ignored it. The phone continued to ring even as he walked down the street and the man followed him.

He made random turns until he was on an almost deserted street. The steps behind him sped up slightly until they were directly behind him. What Merlin assumed was a needle pinched the back of his neck. He felt his limbs go numb first, followed quickly by it spreading to his chest. His legs gave out and an arm wrap around his chest as his he fell. 

A face appeared over him and he had to keep himself from smiling. He still didn’t recognize the face (it reminded him of about 14 people off the top of his head, none of which had been alive for at least a century). But that was of little consequence. 

He’d been chasing monsters and killers for centuries to keep himself occupied waiting for Arthur’s next reincarnation. It had been a while since he had actually done anything hands on and he might have missed it more than he would have ever admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry this chapter took so long. We'll have a longer chapter for you next update. Promise.**   
> **We found out that not all of the last chapter was uploaded last time. We've updated the chapter to have everything. It should make more sense now.**
> 
> **_~TheBritishGovernment_  
> **  
>   
> 
> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 50+ chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...


	29. Dragon?... Dragon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's back + Arthur is worried + Psych evaluations are fun = Chapter 29

While Sherlock stood in Tanner's office, hands shoved into his coat pockets, the MI6 employee explained what had happened over the last 48 hours. Merlin's tracking device had been deactivated not long after Sherlock had lost sight of the man, and according to Q, only someone from Q-Branch would have been able to know how to shut off that particular piece of equipment. 

As a result, all of Q-Branch and even parts of other branches, most heavily the 00's, spent their weekend searching for the man.

Monday came and went, and Tuesday morning rolled around with not so much as a trace of... anything. It was only when Tuesday afternoon finally hit that they got a trace of Merlin, in the form of the man walking through the front doors of MI6, covered in his own blood and his clothing in tatters. Medical was fighting tooth and nail to keep Merlin and make him rest, but M wanted him to provide them with the information they needed. 

The door behind Sherlock jerked open, and Q marched in. “You utter imbecile!” he shouted at Sherlock.

John and Moneypenny followed a moment later, looking concerned, like they thought that Q might actually try to kill his brother. Pursing his lips, Sherlock sighed. “Can we settle this later?”

Q didn't pause in his yelling. “No! No, we can't settle this later. You used one of my subordinates, someone I consider a friend, mind you, to lure out a _murderer_. And look at this. It's ended just as badly as anyone could have told you it would!”

“I did what was necessary to solve the case.”

“Oh, really. Have you solved the case now, genius?” Q snapped.

Sherlock stared back at him blankly.

“Q,” Tanner interrupted carefully. “R is going in for his psych evaluation, since he refuses medical attention. We were heading down now.” He glanced between the two men, obviously gauging the tension there.

Taking a deep breath, Q nodded. “All right. Let's go, then.”

Moneypenny went back to her desk and watched Q, Tanner, Sherlock, and John leave the room. Bond, who hadn't left Q's side wince the minions started getting offed, joined them by the elevator.

Downstairs, Arthur was leaving his own psych evaluation. He'd just returned from a deep cover mission in Moscow, and to his amusement, most of the conversation had revolved around making sure he hadn't developed any communistic tendencies. He stopped, though, and stared at the large group that passed him by. When he caught sight of Bond, he grabbed the man's arm and raised an eyebrow, nodding at the others.

“I presume you've been briefed on the Q-Branch minions being hunted,” Bond said calmly.

Arthur nodded. 

“The PI we hired sent Merlin out as bait, and he got caught. Escaped somehow. He's back here, getting evaluated to make sure he didn't cut a deal. By the looks of him, though, I don't think that's the case.”

“He used _Merlin_ as _bait_?” Arthur asked, his grip on Bond's arm tightening, his eyes going a little wider. 

Bond glanced down at the man's fingers digging into his arm, and then back up at Arthur's face, gingerly extracting the appendage from the man's grip. “Yes. And as I said, he's back. Alive, in case you missed that bit. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Pointedly not thinking about the utter panic on Arthur's face and in his voice, or the possible reasons for it, Bond walked away, catching up with the group a moment later. Q gave him a raised eyebrow, but Bond didn't acknowledge it. The last thing the boffin needed to worry himself about was yet another double-oh falling for someone in Q-Branch.

John elected to stay out of the little observation room, because he didn't need to, quote, “see some bloke get his life explained to me.” Bond was fairly certain that Sherlock missed the pointed look that John shot at him, and it was just another reminder that Sherlock and Q were indeed related. 

Bond wasn't surprised, when, a minute or two later, Arthur slid into the observation room as well, leaning against the wall and trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Sherlock didn't seem to care, and Q only gave the man an irritated look before turning back to the one-way mirror, his fingers drumming impatiently on his cross arms as he waited for R to enter the room.

The evaluator was there, already, and a moment later, R walked in, and Bond was impressed. He wasn't limping at all, and other than a butterfly bandage on a cut next to his eye, he didn't look like he'd even left Q-Branch. It was impressive, and more than slightly disturbing. He shouldn't have patched up that well, not with the amount of blood that had been on him.

Maybe he was magical, like his Q-Branch nickname implied.

R took the seat across from the psychologist, looking almost bored with the entire thing. He crossed his legs and his arms and fixed Hall with an expecting look, and Bond settled in for the show.

“Should he being doing this so soon after he got back?” he asked Tanner a few moments later.

“We need to make sure he’s sane before we start questioning him.” Tanner shrugged.

“We’ll start with some simple word association,” the evaluator said, adjusting his papers in front of him. “I say a word and you tell me the first word that pops into your mind. For example I might say day and you might say…”

“Day.”

“R,” Doctor Hall said in a slightly warning voice. 

“You asked for the first word that popped into my head. You got it,” Merlin countered.

The doctor sighed and looked back at his notes. “Gun?”

“Gun.”

“Agent?”

“Agent.”

“Woman?”

“Woman.”

“Heart?”

“Heart.”

“Bird?”

“Bird.”

“M?”

“M.”

“Dragon?”

Merlin’s lips curled slightly. “Dragon.”

“Sunlight?”

“Sunlight.”

“Moonlight?”

“Moonlight.”

“Camelot?”

Merlin smirked at the man and leaned across the table. “Kilgarah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Told you this chapter would be longer. Enjoy.**
> 
> **Also, England Would Fall is going on official hiatus until May 17**
> 
> **  
> _~TheBritishGovernment_  
> **
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos and comments = love.
> 
> We (A.K.A. my best friend and I who write this) intend to add many more fandoms. As it stands now, this story is going to become SuperAliasHeroHanniWhoBondLock in Camelot. We have 50+ chapters planned out.
> 
> Have an idea for a fandom to add? Please tell us! We're always looking for new slash, I mean, shows...


	30. Not Even You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Case solving + end of an arc + WE'RE BACK BITCHES! = Chapter 30

Mallory, Q, Tanner, Merlin, and Sherlock were standing behind a one-way mirror staring at sixteen ex-interns who had cycled through Q-Branch. Bond was standing outside the door along with Arthur. Since Merlin’s psych evaluation Arthur hadn’t left Merlin’s side, and when he did (only because of Merlin’s insistence that he could take care of himself) he was still never far away. The only difference in Bond and Q’s situation was that Bond didn’t listen when Q told him that he could take care of himself. He would just smile before leaning down and press a quick kiss to Q’s pouting lips before continuing to stand guard. 

On the other side of the glass the sixteen interns started shifting their weight nervously. Q felt a deep sense of betrayal as he stared at them. He had known the whole time that it was going to be someone he had worked with, one of the interns most likely. That was the probability and he knew it, but standing in front of them and looking them all in the face as they glanced nervously around them created a cocktail of emotions in the pit of his stomach. He promptly filed the reaction away for later. In front of his subordinate, brother, and bosses was not the place for him to have an emotional breakdown.

“Anyone you recognize?” Tanner asked Merlin carefully. Everyone had been tiptoeing around the man since he had gotten back, though it had only been two days. It was driving him slightly mad from what Q gathered from his exasperated sigh. He had been tortured and he wanted to move on, Q could respect that.

Merlin stared at them all carefully. “They all worked in R&D. Of course I recognize them,” Merlin said sharply. “But if you’re asking me if I recognize any of them as the person who captured me: no,” Merlin lied. Q saw the flick of Sherlock’s eyes over Merlin’s body as he saw it too. Great, now he was interested in Merlin. Mallory and Tanner didn’t notice.

“Can you still find out who it is, Mr. Holmes?” Mallory asked. He had dark shadows growing under his eyes, but his voice showed no sign of his exhaustion. 

“Of course,” Sherlock said in a slightly offended voice. He too had dark rings under his eyes, but his voice sounded elated. 

“Well then get to it,” Q bit out before he could stop himself. 

Sherlock shot him a familiar look telling him to get his emotions under control. Q just glared back. Sherlock turned away from the group and went through the door that stood on the side of the room connecting them directly to the room full of ex-interns.

Sherlock walked across the line in front of them and started waving at different ex-interns, telling them to leave as they passed. Each of them that had worked for MI6 at least six months before they had rotated out decided against moving out of the room without explicit permission from someone they recognized. Q had known them all at a time when they had listened only to their supervisor, R, or himself. Instead they moved to the edge of the room so that they were out of the way, but still in view of the people behind the glass.

Sherlock stopped waving away the interns when there were only three of them left standing in front of him. There were two men and a woman, and all three of them were looking rather nervous. Statistically, Q knew that it was highly unlikely that all three of them were the culprits, and whatever the two innocent ones had done to make then nervous didn't concern him at all.

After another moment of deliberation, Sherlock waved the woman away, turning to face the remaining two men. He opened his mouth, most likely to rattle off a chain of deductions about their personal lives based off the kind of hair product they used, or something like that, when one of them darted forward, putting Sherlock into a choke-hold.

It was all pretty downhill after that. 

Everyone darted forward, but no one actually opened the door, a knee-jerk reaction. M called in Arthur and Bond, but stopped from sending them in when Q held up his hand. “He can take care of himself. Marcel isn’t armed anyway.”

M looked slightly annoyed at Q’s statement, but didn’t say anything. Tanner started alerting security from his phone and requesting the level be closed off. Sherlock’s face was slowly turning blue, but Q pressed the intercom button and ordered the other interns not do anything.

Marcel’s eyes lite up at the sound of Q’s voice and he stared at the mirror that much more intently. That’s when the explanation started. He seemed to have forgotten that he had Sherlock captive, his grip slipping more and more with every word. He kept saying he'd done it for _Q_. He'd gotten rid of those who weren't _worthy_ to work for him, who hadn't earned the honor. Made it easier for Q. He'd done the right thing.

Q thought he was going to be sick.

The guy kept talking, but Q shut him out completely. His grip continued to slip until Sherlock was able to twist out of the hold and press him against the wall. That was when Arthur and Bond charged into the room. Sherlock let them have him, which resulted in Marcel having a broken rib from Arthur’s knee and a dislocated jaw from Bond’s fist.

Half an hour later the other ex-interns were being debriefed and signing confidentiality wavers, and John showed up in the lobby of MI6 to get Sherlock (Q assumed that Bond had called him while Q had been in debrief with the ex-interns.) He looked less like he was going to kill someone than Q had expected and more like he was going to take Sherlock home and shag the hell out of him.

Q shivered. The mechanics of that relationship were not something he cared to think about. Not when he had to deal with the aftermath of a series of murders committed by one of their own. He delivered the news to the rest of Q-Branch. It was met with mixed emotions. People were happy to be rid of the security detail for good and to know that their lives were no longer in more jeopardy than usual, but there was still the coldness of betrayal and grief. 

He didn't even realize that a few hours had passed until Bond was coming up behind him, sliding his big arms around his waist and reaching up to turn off his computer.

“You're lucky I wasn't working on anything important,” he said, even though he leaned back into Bond's firm warmth. The exhaustion of the past few weeks seemed to crash into him all at once, his eyes drifting closed against his will.

“You're done working for the night,” Bond answered, and Q almost laughed at the tone of finality in his voice. “Before you get too caught up in blaming yourself for what happened.”

Q frowned, closing his eyes. “It's not a matter of blame,” he said. “It's a matter of I should have known better. I should have realized something was off with him from the start. I never should have let it get this far. If I'd been more alert, no one would have died.”

“So you're psychic now, too?” Bond's mouth was right next to his ear. “You couldn't have predicted that. Not even you.”

“But I...”

“Not even you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK.


	31. Americans

After the mess that was the MI6 case, John was sure that Sherlock would be able to go at least three days without a case. If he had known that that wasn't going to be the case, he would have set his alarm for the following morning, but since he didn't have any clinic hours, he figured it was all right for him to sleep in. 

Sherlock threw back the curtains in their room at 7:27 am and pulled the blankets off John's still sleeping form a moment later. “We have a client,” was all he said before walking back out of the room, leaving John to blink in the morning light and wonder what he had ever done to deserve any of this.

He dressed quickly and made his way down to the sitting room, where there actually were two men sitting. One was tall, with short styled hair, a strong jaw and an air about him that screamed military. The other was simply ginormous with almost shoulder-length hair. Both were clad in plaid and…layers.

_Americans,_ John thought as he walked into the kitchen. He put on the kettle, and a moment later, one of the men spoke, confirming his suspicions. 

“It’s been a while, Sherlock. Good to see you finally got home again.”

It was too early for this.

John made his tea as he listened to Sherlock and the men talk. The men were vague when asked what they were doing in London, in a way that made John want to go upstairs and get his gun. Instead he made his way out to the sitting room, taking a seat in his chair. Sherlock looked at him and paused for a moment as if he had expected his own cup of tea, but he could bugger off. 

“Sam,” the long-haired one said, leaning forward and holding his hand out to John. He shook it, and then did the same with the other. Dean. 

“I'm...”

“John Watson, we know.” The long-haired one... _Sam_ turned away from John, back to Sherlock. “We know you said you wanted nothing to do with it after you were done with the case in Topeka, but we figured you’d still know if there was anything that was our kinda job.”

John turned to Sherlock slowly. “Their kind of job?”

“Sam and Dean specialize in the supernatural,” Sherlock provided, unfazed by the fact that he had just said supernatural like it was a normal thing to investigate. He refocused his attention on Sam and Dean, but John wasn’t done.

“What do you mean ‘supernatural’?” 

“Celestial. Metaphysical. Mythical. Occult.” Sherlock waved his hand.

“Seriously?” John asked, looking between the three men who sat in his living room. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had just been Sherlock on another research binge trying to find something that didn’t exist, but he was humoring clients with it. He didn’t humor clients with things that were real. 

“Yeah. All the monsters from your nightmares are our specialty,” Dean said with a grim smile.

“The only thing I have nightmares about shot himself in the head, so I think I’m good.” John turned from Dean and back to Sherlock. “Sherlock? How do you know these people?”

“While I was dead I was working a case in America and met these two.”

“And they investigate the supernatural?” John asked slowly. “Seriously? Vampires, werewolves, demons, angels?”

“Not angels,” Sherlock corrected offhandedly. 

“Actually angels we’ve found,” Dean added.

“Sure have,” Sam said with a slight smile in his voice. “They took quite a liking to Dean.”

Dean shot Sam a glare. “At least a psychopath didn’t take a liking to me,” he grumbled.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, Sam bristled slightly, and Dean looked far too pleased with himself. John was just sure that he had missed some important piece of information. “She’s not a psychopath. She’s just her father’s daughter, nothing more.” John felt more lost than ever. “You wanted to know if there was anything unusual?”

“’Merlin’ Emrys may be of some interest to you,” Sherlock said.

“What? What’s wrong with Merlin?” John asked.

“He shouldn’t have come back. Recently there was a string of murders in…” Sherlock started only to have John interrupt.

“Sherlock,” he said in a warning tone. They had both signed confidentiality agreements about MI6 case. They couldn’t speak to anyone about it. John couldn’t blog about it. And if there were any questions about what they had been doing during that time they were to answer that they hadn’t done anything. 

The detective looked at his boyfriend but continued with a different explanation. “I met him while investigating another case. He should have died, but he came back.”

“Miraculous escapes happen all the time. What makes you think it’s our kind of thing?” Dean asked.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the Americans.

“How do you know he wasn’t in on it?” 

Sherlock practically growled at the men. “The wounds he received should have killed him. Instead he walked into work, even you could have figured out that there was something wrong with him.”

“Fine. We’ll look into it. Do you have an address for this kid?” Dean asked, standing up. He didn’t seem too comfortable in the flat. He was constantly glancing around and even peaked into the kitchen where Sherlock had once again laid out another experiment. Everyone else stood up as well, John made an irritated sigh as he did so.

“I’ll text you both the details.” They started towards the door. Sam turned to say a goodbye to have Sherlock shut the door in his face. John heard him turn to Dean and say, “I almost forgot why I don’t like him.”

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